MOUNTAIN    MEMORIES 


Pholo:  S fencer. 


THE   SCHRECKHOKN. 


Mountain  Memories 

A  Pilgrimage  of  Romance 


By 

Sir  Martin  Conway 

M.P.,  Litt.D.,  V.Pres.S.A.,  V.Pres.R.G.S. 

Formerly  President  of  the  Alpine  Club  and  Slade  Prof,  of  Art  at  Cambridge 


With  16  Full-page  Plates 


New  York 
Funk  and  Wagnalls   Company 


•3i 

n 


G-s\o 


Preface 

IN  taking  leave  of  this  book  I  desire  to  return  my 
thanks  to  the  kind  friends  whose  help  has  been 
very  valuable  to  me  :  to  Mr.  Sydney  Spencer,  for  the 
beautiful  photographs  of  Alpine  scenery  he  has  placed 
at  my  disposal,  and  for  many  useful  hints;  also  to 
Professor  E.  J.  Garv^^ood,  my  old  travelling  com- 
panion, for  Spitsbergen  photographs.  The  verses 
cited  on  pages  96  and  158  are  from  the  poems  of  the 
late  Mr.  Frederick  Myers. 

Martin  Conway. 

January  21,  1920. 


Contents 


Chapter 

1.  The  Opened  Door 

2.  Germination  .... 

3.  Alps  on  Alps  Arise 

4.  Tirol 

5.  The  Engadine        .... 

6.  Zermatt  in  1877    .... 

7.  Mountain  Geography  and  History 

8.  Love  and  Death  .... 

9.  Pennine  and  Lepontine  Wanderings 

10.  High-Level  Routes 

11.  The  Call  of  the  East    . 

12.  Kashmir  ..... 

13.  Springtime  among  the  Himalayas 

14.  The  Hispar  Pass   .... 

15.  The  Baltoro  .... 

16.  Ladakh  ..... 

17.  The  Alps  from  End  to  End  in  1894 
18  The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen 

19.  The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen 

20.  The  Bolivian  Andes 

21.  South  American  Volcanoes  • 

22.  Fuegia 


Index 


Page 
1 

8 

19 

36 

42 

60 

73 

89 

101 

111 

120 

129 

138 

144 

152 

164 

176 

192 

210 

228 

246 

262 

277 


List  of  Illustrations 

The  Schreckhorn Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

The  Gervin,  from  the  Tete  Blanche 30 

The  Fee  Glacier  at  Dawn 74 

Grozzon  di  Tosa,  from  Road  Near  Madonna  di  Gampiglio  106 

Aiguille  du  Geant,  from  the  P^riades  Glacier          •        .  112 

The  Broad  Peak,  Baltoro  Glacier,  Himalayas         •        •  152 

Masherbrum,  from  Crystal  Peak,  Himalayas  ....  154 

Mont  Blanc,  from  the  Aiguille  Verte 180 

The  Eiger  and  Wetterhorn  at  Dawn,  fiom  the  Biittlassen  184 

In  the  Heart  of  Spitsbergen 204 

The    Three    Crowns    and    Kings    Bay,   from    the    Diadem, 

Spitsbergen 216 

Horn    Sunds    Tind,    from    the    Top   of    Mount    Hedgehog, 

Spitsbergen 226 

On  Illampu,  Bolivia 232 

In  Camp  on  Illampu,  Bolivia 242 

The  West  Face  of  Aconcagua,  from  the  Smugglers'  Pass     •  248 
Looking  North-North -East,  from  the  North  Slope  of  Mount 

Sarmiento  •                266 


Mountain  Memories 

A  Pilgrimage  of  Romance 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    OPENED     DOOR 

I  WONDER  whether  this  beginning  is  to  end  in  a 
book  or,  like  so  many  oShei's>  iis.' the- v/xste-paper 
basket?  No  long-thought-£)ut'pJap,^  h^t--^  svidden  im- 
pulse immediately  yielded  to,  has  f)rompted  the  Vvriting, 
for  the  bright  sunshine  of  to-day  seems  not  so  much 
to  be  revealing  the  landscape  as  illuminating  memory. 
The  landscapes  of  the  past  appear  at  this  moment  more 
real  than  the  immediately  visible  world.  Mountains, 
lakes,  the  desert,  the  broad  sea,  sights  beheld  here, 
there  and  everywhere,  are  passing  before  the  vision  of 
the  mind,  blotting  out  the  present  as  sunshine  out- 
floods  the  stars.  Death,  I  love  to  think,  may  thus  give 
back  to  us  the  vanished  years.  The  journey  of  life 
has  led  through  strange  lands.  We  have  passed  them 
by — our  boyhood,  our  youth,  our  middle  age — each 
a  series  of  great  adventures,  great  explorations  of  un- 
travelled  regions.  We  have  left  them  behind  and  are 
still  looking  forward  when  Death  comes  with  its 
summons  to  "  Change  here."  We  must  alight  from 
the  moving  train.    The  journey  is  ended,  but  not  the 


Motmtain  Memories 


region  we  have  journeyed  through.  That  still  exists, 
and — who  knows? — alighted  from  the  train  of  life,  we 
may  be  able  to  wander  back  and  survey  it  all  at  our 
leisure — "  the  eternal  landscape  of  the  past,  a  life-long 
stretch  of  time  revealed."  Then  perhaps  we  may 
again  have  vision  of  friends,  places  and  events  which 
memory  alone  can  vaguely  essay  to  touch  while  we  are 
alive. 

Memory  differs  from  experience  herein  that  she  flits 
hither  and  thither,   like  one   of  those  great  tropical 
butterflies  of  Brazil,  flashing  into  iridescent  blue  on 
the  beat  of  the  opened  wing  in  sunshine  and  utterly 
vanishing -^Fom  sig}it  '^%  Ihe  wings  fold  upward  and  the 
duller  sides  lose  themselves  against  shadow.    Tantalising 
bursts  of  ileiy  bllie  are  all  We  behold,  first  here,  then 
there.     So  it  is  with  memory.     It  leaps  from  place  to 
place,    encircling    the    world    faster    than    light — one 
moment  in  African  deserts,   the   next  among  Asia's 
great    mountains,    the    next    in    the    Sargasso    Sea. 
Memory  annihilates  both  space  and  time,   as  Death 
may  annihilate  them  when  "  Time  shall  be  no  more." 
I  often  wonder  what  Christians  mean  when  they 
talk  of  a  future  life.     If  "  Time  shall  be  no  more," 
there  can  be  neither  future  nor  past.     Eternal  life  I 
can  vaguely  comprehend,  but  future  life — what  is  that? 
Are  we  everlastingly  to  be  imprisoned  in  these  bonds 
of  time  and  space  ?    Are  we  never  to  be  free  ?    Thought 
is  free  in  space  as  in  time.    It  can  annihilate  them  both. 
Space  and  time  are  attributes  of  the  senses,  not  of  the 
soul.     They  belong  to  the  material  world,  not  to  the 
spiritual.      If   man    is   a  mere   material   machine,   he 


The  Opened  Door 


belongs  to  the  world  of  time  and  space  and  can  never 
escape.  Death  must  extinguish  him.  If,  however, 
man  is  essentially  spiritual  and  his  body  a  temporary 
tool,  the  essence  of  him  does  not  belong  to  the  world 
of  time  and  space  but  to  an  eternal  world  in  which 
neither  time  nor  space  constrain  him.  The  soul  of 
man  is  in  Eternity  already,  and  awaits  not  Death  to 
transport  him  to  that  high  region. 

It  must  be  within  the  experience  of  everyone  that 
the  effect  of  landscape  upon  us  depends  on  our  mood. 
Some  aspects  of  Nature  seem  to  have  the  power  of 
creating  the  mood  in  which  they  can  be  enjoyed,  but 
that  is  a  delusion.  It  is  not  the  aspect  but  its  associa- 
tions that  create  the  mood.  Poets,  painters,  inspired 
writers  have  taught  us  the  secret  of  vision.  Our  joy 
in  sunsets  owes  something  to  Turner.  Mountains  thrill 
us  because  Wordsworth  and  Ruskin  opened  our  eyes. 
Two  or  three  centuries  ago  they  spoke  no  such  message 
as  we  now  read  in  them.  Venice  about  the  year  1500 
must  have  been  at  the  very  culmination  of  her  unrivalled 
beauty,  yet  Diirer,  who  spent  a  year  there,  and  whose 
letters  home  we  possess,  never  refers  to  the  loveliness 
of  Venice.  About  to  return  to  Nuremberg,  he  does 
not  regret  leaving  so  much  beauty  behind,  but  only 
reflects,  "How  I  shall  freeze  after  this  sunshine!  " 
It  is  not  Nature  that  illuminates  the  mind,  but  the 
mind  that  glorifies  Nature.  The  beauty  that  we  behold 
must  first  arise  in  ourselves.  It  is  born  for  the  most 
part  in  suffering.  '*  We  learn  in  suffering  what  we 
teach  in  song."  That  is  the  experience  of  all  poets, 
and  every   man  is   a  poet  at  the  moment   when   he 


Moimtain  Memories 


visualises  beauty.  If  we  ,were  perfect  in  creative 
imagination  we  might  see  perfect  beauty  everywhere. 
As  it  is,  most  of  us  can  only  find  it  in  the  presence  of 
certain  phenomena  to  which  we  have  learnt  to  respond. 

A  lad  first  awakes  to  beauty  perhaps  at  vision  of 
great  snow-mountains.  The  moment  of  the  opening 
of  the  doors  thus  comes  for  him.  He  "  sees  Heaven 
opened  and  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  descend- 
ing." The  dyed  glories  of  the  East  at  the  hour  of 
da\vn  may  admit  another  for  the  first  time  to  the  King- 
dom of  Romance.  For  him  then  "  the  morning  stars 
sing  together  and  all  the  sons  of  God  are  shouting  for 
joy."  It  matters  not  how  the  birth  of  each  into  the 
eternal  world  comes  to  pass.  Those  who  are  chosen 
for  the  kingdom  enter  by  one  of  countless  gates,  and 
thenceforward  are  free  of  a  larger  or  smaller  province 
of  it.  They  have  "  seen  God."  Their  desire  becomes 
to  know  more  and  more  of  the  kingdom,  to  possess  it 
in  larger  measure.  They  may  live  outwardly  the  most 
commonplace  lives,  going  to  offices  by  humdrum  morn- 
ing trains  and  fulfiUing  the  ordinary  duties  of  the  earners 
of  daily  bread  or  the  mothers  of  families,  but  that  is 
not  their  real  life.  Behind  the  material  veil  they  are 
Pilgrims  of  Romance.  They  are  initiated  members  of 
a  secret  brotherhood.  They  recognise  one  another, 
but  pass  unrecognised  by  the  world  for  what  they 
really  are. 

It  is  this  Pilgrimage  of  Romance  that  has  been  life 
itself  to  me,  and  a  strange  route  it  has  caused  me  to 
follow.  A  wiser  man  would  have  guided  his  course 
better.     I  have  never  sought  to  be  wise,  but  always  to 


The  Opened  Door 


plunge  into  the  unknown,  to  get  away  from  the  dull 
round  of  every  day,  and  go  forth  as  student  or  adven- 
turer into  subjects  or  regions  where  it  seemed  to  me 
at  the  moment  that  the  unattained  might  be  attain- 
able, the  unexperienced  might  be  felt.  These  momen- 
tary ideals  often  proved  to  be  "  wandering  fires,"  yet 
another  always  supplanted  the  last. 

The  realms  of  art  and  Nature  make  the  most  obvious 
call.  All  the  art  of  the  past,  all  the  regions  of  the  earth. 
Egypt,  with  its  deep  mystery — dark-shadowed  Edfu, 
most  dignified  of  all  temples,  the  great  diorite  statues, 
the  tortuous  labyrinths  of  the  imagined  underworld. 
Greece,  with  its  monumental  purity,  its  visions  of  per- 
fected humanity.  The  decorative  splendours  and  super- 
human magnificences  of  Byzantium.  The  art  of  the 
Moslem  peoples,  startling  in  sudden  incidence  of  a 
completed  impression.  Gothic  architecture  insidiously 
and  slowly  cumulative  in  capture  of  the  imagination, 
soaring,  involved,  lurking  with  unexpected,  half -hidden 
charms.  The  works  of  these  and  a  hundred  schools, 
from  the  Aurignacian  cave-dwellers  and  Magdalenian 
bone-carvers  down  to  the  product  of  our  own  days, 
each  makes  its  separate  call  and  lures  us  on  from  age 
to  age,  from  style  to  style,  from  material  to  material. 
Each  seems  to  offer  a  new  revelation ;  and  thus  I  at 
least  have  never  come  to  rest  as  exclusive  worshipper 
at  the  shrine  of  any. 

So,  too,  it  was  with  Nature.  She  has  called  to  me 
from  ice-bound  Arctic  solitudes  and  the  yet  more 
solitary  tropical  deserts.  Radiant  Kashmir  and  Chile, 
flamboyant   Jamaica   and   Brazil,   gardened   England, 


Mountain  Memories 


ineffable  Venice,  Italy  enriched  .with  every  variety  of 
charm,  the  stupendous  mountains  of  Asia,  the  grace- 
fuller  Alps  of  Europe,  the  Andes  soaring  aloft  from 
Amazonian  forests  and  drooping  to  the  high  desert 
plain,  lakes  rock-framed  or  set  in  luxury  of  vegetation, 
rivers  in  cataract  and  thunderous  fall,  or  slowly 
meandering  through  limitless  plains,  the  storm-beaten 
reaches  and  black-forested  channels  of  Tierra  del  Fuego, 
these  and  countless  other  kinds  of  scenery  have  called 
me,  and  each  for  the  moment  has  appeared  supreme. 
Lo !  here  is  the  land  of  romance,  I  have  said.  But 
it  was  not  so.  The  mood  of  revelation  passed.  Nature 
put  on  once  more  her  scientific,  mechanical  shroud, 
and  I  wandered  on  to  search  elsewhere  for  "  that  un- 
travell'd  world  whose  margin  fades  for  ever  and  for 
ever  as  we  move." 

Nor  does  one  need  to  travel  physically  in  search 
of  romance.  Each  new  friend  may  open  the  door. 
Love  holds  the  most  comprehensive  master-key. 
"  God's  own  smile  comes  out  "  once  at  least  in  almost 
every  Hfetime  on  the  face  of  the  beloved.  All  acknow- 
ledge the  days  of  love  as  a  time  of  romance.  Most 
think  of  romance  as  though  only  then  to  be  experienced. 
To  the  happy  few  their  love-vision  lasts  on  unbroken. 
For  most  it  is  a  passing  vision,  from  time  to  time 
perhaps  renewed  and  again  destroyed.  But  love  is  not 
the  only  giver  of  this  joy.  It  can  be  found,  is  found, 
by  those  whom  the  gods  love,  in  all  careers  and  every 
society.  There  is  romance  in  banking  and  on  the  Stock 
Exchange,  romance  in  the  mysterious,  almost  musical 
fluxes  and  interlacements  of  money  power  beneath  the 


The  Opened  Door 


surface  of  commerce,  romance  in  industry  and  the 
management  of  men,  romance  in  armies  and  navies 
and  trades  unions,  romance  in  transport  and  flight. 
All  these  romances  intercross  and  interlace  in  the  high 
romance  of  politics.  It  is  not,  as  a  rule,  ambition  that 
takes  men  into  that  arena  and  keeps  them  there ;  they 
are  attracted  by  the  romance  of  public  life.  The 
greatest  politicians  have  always  been  romantics,  none 
more  so  in  the  nineteenth  century  than  Disraeli,  none 
than  Lloyd  George  in  the  twentieth. 

Let  no  one,  therefore,  suppose  that  in  this  book  I 
write  the  whole  autobiography  of  a  life  of  romance. 
The  secrets  of  that  tale  no  man  would  willingly  tell. 
I  write  here  onlj^  such  small  parts  of  the  story  as  are 
concerned  with  mountains,  though  fearing  that  the 
power  so  to  tell  even  that  minor  chapter  as  to  convey 
to  others  a  hundredth  part  of  ,what  the  hills  have  been 
to  me  may  not  be  mine. 


CHAPTER   II 

GERMINATION 

IGNORANCE  and  imagination  combined  are  fruitful 
parents  of  romance.  Knowledge  blasts  fancy.  The 
sun,  moon  and  starry  heaven  were  gods  and  the  abode 
of  gods  in  the  childhood  of  the  world.  We  have 
weighed,  measured  and  mapped  them,  plumbed  their 
distances  and  analysed  their  substance.  Sun  and  stars 
are  gods  no  longer,  but  insensate  fires  raging  in  the  vast 
depths  of  uninhabited  space.  Nothing  remains  to  them 
but  their  enormous  size,  and  even  that  ceases  to  impress 
the  imagination  when  its  mere  relativity  is  grasped. 
As  knowledge  spreads  out  its  tentacles  it  captures  the 
realms  of  romance  one  by  one  and  brings  them  within 
the  dull  domain  of  science  and  the  intellect.  Mankind 
hails  scientific  discovery  as  an  unmixed  blessing.  Has 
it  not  rather  been  a  curse?  The  last  century  was  the 
great  age  of  scientific  discovery.  It  beheld  the  masses 
of  mankind  increasingly  materialised,  growingly  dis- 
contented, uglier  in  their  surroundings,  ever  more  futile 
in  their  amusements,  less  joyous,  less  imaginative,  less 
faithful,  less  ideal. 

As  it  has  been  with  the  race,  so  is  it  with  the  in- 
dividual. Childhood  is  the  time  of  happiness  and  of 
romance.  The  illumination  of  a  mother  with  her  baby 
is  no  greater  than  that  of  a  little  girl  with  her  doll ;  but 
how  much  else  the  little  girl  possesses  that  the  mother 

8 


Germination 


has  lost !  Wordsworth  imagined  the  infant  newly  come 
into  the  world  as  "  trailing  clouds  of  glory."  Is  it  not 
rather  a  glorious  ignorance  that  possesses  children, 
coupled  with  a  power  of  imagination  almost  unbounded? 

Everyone  knows  how  hard  it  is  to  travel  back  in- 
memory  to  childhood's  days  and  feel  as  we  then  felt. 
The  gulf  between  children  and  grown-ups  is  for  most 
unbridgeable.  That  is  why  grow^n-ups  look  so  foolish 
in  the  eyes  of  children.  The  child  leaps  in  imagination 
over  every  obstacle  and  wonders  at  the  halting  gait  of 
grown-ups.  It  is  not  the  wisdom  but  the  limitations 
of  the  mature  that  appal  the  young.  The  world  children 
actually  know  is  so  small ;  the  other  world  beyond  it, 
which  belongs  to  their  fancy,  is  so  near  and  so  easy 
to  reach  that  they  w^onder  at  the  incapacity  of  grown- 
ups to  enter  with  them  into  that  so  familiar  domain. 

I  remember  with  tolerable  clearness  an  event  of 
my  own  childhood,  one  of  many  such,  which  estab- 
lished the  gulf  between  me  and  my  elders  as  an  un- 
traversable  void  and  made  me  give  them  up  as  hope- 
less. I  was  five  years  old.  My  governess  had  been 
in  Australia,  and  used  to  tell  me  stories  about  kangaroos, 
gold  mines,  the  bush,  and  such  like  matters  of  real 
interest.  I  brooded  in  silence  over  them  and  decided 
to  go  to  Australia  at  once.  She  and  I  would  go  to- 
gether. Obviously  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to  pack. 
I  crept  into  the  night  nursery  one  afternoon  when  no 
one  was  about.  Unfortunately  a  trunk  was  not  dis- 
coverable, but  what  child  would  be  put  out  by  a  little 
thing  like  that?  I  merely  drew  forth  two  or  three 
drawers  from  the  chest,  packed  my  belongings  in  them, 

B 


10  Mountain  Memories 

and  hid  them  under  the  bed.  It  was  a  rapturous 
moment.  I  was  already  on  the  way.  Austraha  for 
me  was  the  other  world,  the  land  of  romance.  I  was 
on  wings.  To  no  one  did  I  breathe  a  word  about  the 
adventure.  An  hour  or  two  may  have  passed  before 
all  the  house  was  full  of  hullabaloo.  My  things  were 
missed.  Where  had  they  gone .^  Senants  hunted  high 
and  low,  but  could  discover  nothing.  Drawers  and 
their  contents  had  vanished.  No  one  thought  of  asking 
me,  and  I  could  not  have  brought  myself  to  volunteer 
an  explanation.  The  destined  bathos  was  too  certain 
and  horrible.  I  also  hid.  Finally  I  was  interrogated 
and  confessed.  I  was  off  to  Austraha,  and  had  packed 
accordingly.  The  patronising  laughter  of  my  elders 
goes  in  a  cold  shudder  down  my  back  again  at  this 
moment  of  \NTiting.  What  had  been  so  real  and  so 
wonderful  to  me  was  the  inept  folly  of  a  child  to  them. 
They  could  not  imderstand.  I  could  not  explain.  Be- 
tween me  and  them  there  was  a  great  gulf  fixed.  I 
have  been  told  that  in  Japan  civilisation  is  so  much 
more  developed  that  the  gulf  is  narrower,  and  children 
are  seldom  in  this  way  wounded  in  the  house  of  their 
parents. 

Thus  early,  by  the  accident  of  that  Australian 
governess,  my  fancy  stretched  forth  to  distant  lands. 
People  might  impress  upon  me,  as  they  only  too  often 
did,  that  this  world  was  a  transiton-  affair,  a  mere 
antechamber  to  a  world  to  come.  That  vision  left  me 
cold,  except  when  I  alternately  flamed  and  shivered 
with  horror  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  at  the  pictured 
tortures  which  I  did  not  doubt  awaited  mv  inevitablv- 


Gennination  n 


to-be-damned  soiil.  Dreamland  for  me  was  just 
•'abroad" — '*dear  abroad,"  as  I  heard  someone  call 
it.  The  thoughts  of  it  got  tangled  up  with  the  sound 
of  the  cathedral  bells  of  Rochester  ringing  for  after- 
noon service  in  summer,  at  the  hour  when  I  was  turned 
out  alone  into  our  garden,  to  dig  or  dream  as  pleased 
me  best.  The  other  day  I  heard  them,  and  for  a 
moment  the  old  romance  returned  in  formless  vague- 
ness; but,  alas!  there  is  no  other  world  left  for  me 
now  on  earth  or  in  the  material  universe  wherein  to 
travel  fancy-free.  Experience  has  destroyed  them  all. 
I  know  that  it  would  do  no  good  **  to  sail  beyond  the 
sunset ''  in  search  of  the  Happy  Isles.  Bran  could 
go  thither  in  good  hope,  because  he  did  not  know. 
Admiralty  charts  have  obliterated  that  possibility.  If 
I  still  possess  a  secret  kingdom  it  is  not  of  the  old  kind. 
Were  I  to  reveal  it  to  you,  most  gentle  reader,  you 
would  only  laugh  as  did  the  grown-ups,  and  the  gidf 
would  open  between  you  and  me,  unbridgeable,  and 
make  us  strangers  for  ever  more. 

Matson's  pond  was  the  other  fancy  place  which 
rooted  itself  deeply  in  my  ajffections,  and  I  love  it  stiU 
— not,  indeed,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  recent  years,  after 
absence  during  half  a  century,  but  as  it  was  before 
suburbs  and  ^iUadom  had  stretched  out  toward  it  and 
a  tram-line  come  rasping  and  grinding  by.  Still,  there 
the  pond  is,  now  a  mere  brown  and  weed-co\  ered  ex- 
pan%  within  an  iris  of  mud.  The  roots  of  the  twin 
ehns  that  overshadowed  it  remain  and  mark  the  site 
of  a  more  wonderful  water-ca\  e  than  I  can  ever  hope 
hereafter  to  behold.      The  trees  \vith  mingled  roots 


12  Motmtahi  Memories 

grew,  two  in  one,  at  the  edge  of  the  water,  and  forked 
away  from  one  another  a  foot  or  two  up.  I  could 
chnib  into  this  fork  and  look  over — a  wqld  and  forbidden 
joy  only  to  be  snatched  by  running  ahead  and  getting 
into  place  before  the  attendant  dragon  could  prevent, 
or  when  she  was  fortunately  caught  on  the  neighbour- 
ing stile  or  otherwise  off  the  alert.  If  you  stretched 
over  far  enough,  you  could  see  beneath  a  tangle  of  roots 
a  dark  and  wonderful  grotto  about  two  feet  high,  floored 
with  lapping  water  and  magical  reflections.  I  used  to 
picture  myself  sailing  into  it  on  a  three-masted  toy 
ship,  with  tiny  little  men  on  board,  myself  small  as 
they.  There  w^ere  ledges  on  which  we  would  land,  and 
darker  recesses  we  would  explore,  but  the  great  thing 
w'as  that  no  one  would  see  us.  Once  inside  w^e  should 
be  away  from  lessons  and  rules  and  proprieties  and 
regular  hours  and  all  the  limitations  of  my  little  world 
of  reality  and  every  day.  I  had  other  adventures  out 
on  the  open  pond,  of  course — voj'ages  in  ships,  imagined 
walkings  on  the  water  with  a  boat  on  each  foot,  and 
I  know  not  what  beside ;  but  the  Cavern  of  the  Roots 
was  the  enthralling  place  where  I  never  was  allowed 
to  linger  long  enough  to  taste  a  thousandth  of  the  joys 
it  held  in  such  profusion.  "  Why  are  you  staying 
behind.''  Come  along  quickly.  Take  care  you  don't 
fall  in  !  "  Thus  day  after  day  the  dream  was  broken. 
I  never  told  the  secret,  for  no  one  would  have  under- 
stood. 

The  Folkestone  seashore  in  summer  defined  and  to 
some  degree  limited  these  vague  aspirations  toward  the 
world  beyond  my  ken.    There  twice  a  day  real  steamers 


Germination  13 


paddled  forth  and  vanished  on  the  far  horizon,  carrying 
people  of  flesh  and  blood  away  to  the  land  of  mystery 
and  the  beyond.  I  saw  them  vanish,  saw  others  return- 
ing. How  wonderfully  they  must  feel !  Each  was 
transfigured  for  me.  Words  fail  to  describe  the  passion 
of  longing  with  which  I  desired  to  be  of  that  company. 
Day  after  day  I  watched  the  drama  of  the  start — 
people  emptying  from  the  train,  embarking,  the  down- 
ward flight  of  baggage,  the  gradual  settlement,  gang- 
.ways  withdrawn,  the  clang  of  a  bell  and  blasts  of  a 
steam  horn,  then  round  went  the  paddles  and  the  fairy 
boat  moved  slowly  off,  past  the  pier  head  and  away. 
What  could  it  feel  like  to  be  actually  going  ?  My  poor 
little  imagination  boggled  in  the  attempt  to  leap  to 
that  supreme  height,  and  fell  back  breathless  on  itself, 
yearning  painfully,  unboundedly,  toward  the  beyond. 
Then  one  day  the  children  of  a  family  with  whom  we 
used  to  dig  the  sands  were  taken  to  Boulogne  and  back 
for  an  hour  or  two  on  that  distant  shore  just  discernible 
from  ours  in  clear  weather.  Thej'^  returned  like  Moses 
from  the  Mount,  glorified ;  but,  alas  !  they  had  nothing 
to  tell.  Not  otherwise  did  Martha  and  Mary  regard 
Lazarus  than  I  them,  and  doubtless  with  as  little 
reward.  No  traveller  could  assuage  my  thirst  with 
tales.  The  least  articulate  could  not  disappoint,  the 
most  descriptive  could  scarcely  stimulate.  It  was  not 
knowledge  I  sought,  but  sight — to  be  there,  to  be  part 
of  that  wonderful  world  beyond,  to  become  myself  an 
inhabitant  of  the  land  of  romance.  Another  ten  years 
were  to  pass  before  that  dream  began  to  be  dispelled 
by  experience  of  the  actual  unromantic  fact. 


14  Mountain  MemoiHes 

About  this  time  we  spent  a  summer  at  Malvern, 
and  I  toddled  rather  than  scrambled  up  my  first  hill, 
the  Worcestershire  Beacon.  To  go  inland  instead  of 
to  the  seashore  had  seemed  a  poor  sort  of  expedition 
till  I  had  climbed  this  hill,  and  then  I  had  no  further 
use  for  the  sea.  I  still  possess  the  letter  written  to 
my  grandfather  describing  this  ascent.  It  was  labori- 
ously indited  in  capital  letters,  one  within  each  square 
of  a  sheet  of  paper  previously  ruled  in  pencil  to  that 
end.  We  climbed,  I  said,  "right  to  the  very  top," 
thus  instinctively  expressing  the  born  climber's  feeling 
that  vmless  the  actual  summit  is  gained  the  ascent  is 
not  complete.  Two  things  only  do  I  now  remember 
of  this  climb — the  view  from  the  summit  and  the 
rapture  of  sliding  down  some  slippery  grass  slopes. 
The  view  was  the  great  revelation.  I  had  never  beheld 
so  much  of  the  world  at  once.  Names  were  nothing 
to  me,  nor  counties  and  far-away  towns  and  tiny  dots 
of  cathedrals ;  I  remember  little  of  all  that,  but  can 
recall  as  though  it  were  yesterday  the  great  flat,  extend- 
ing world  that  spread  away  and  away  on  this  side  and 
on  that  and  called  to  be  wandered  over  and  possessed 
by  wandering.  Wide  outreaching  vistas,  thank  Heaven, 
still  retain  for  me  the  same  mysterious  charm  that 
belonged  to  that  one.  The  delusion  that  somewhere, 
far  off  in  the  blue  distance,  lurks  the  Perfect  Place, 
that  the  blue  hills  really  are  blue,  that  what  one  beholds 
is  in  its  essence  actually  as  beautiful  as  from  above  it 
seems — so  long  as  that  delusion  lasts,  Romance  lingers. 
It  is  not  finally  banished  till  the  cynic's  lesson  is  com- 
pletely learned  :   "  There  where  thou  art  not,  there  is 


Germination  15 


happiness."    The  Lord  preserve  me  from  the  abyss  of 
that  attainment ! 

The  other  day,  passing  through  Tunbridge  Wells, 
I  went  to  see  the  Toad  Rock.     It  is  now  surrounded 
by  iron  railings  and  hopelessly  philistinised.    Fifty  years 
ago  it  was  the  merry  centre  of  a  glorious  playground 
for  children.    There  were  little  rock-cliffs  near  by,  with 
tiny  caves  in  them  into  which  small  people  could  crawl. 
Generally  one  had  to  dig  out  the  sand  to  make  room. 
That  accomplished,  the  gnomes  entered  also,  and  we 
settled  down  hilariously  together.    What  went  forward 
was  no  mere  make-believe,  but  the  real  thing.     We 
knew  that  we  were  troglodytes,  though  that  ,was  not 
what    we    called    ourselves.     By    piling    sand    at   the 
entrance  we  could  close  the  door  and  be  safe  against 
the  attack  of  the  wildest  of  wild  beasts.     My  feeling 
of  sympathy  for  and  understanding  of  palaeolithic  man 
is,  in  fact,  derived  from  memories  of  the  little  cave  by 
the  Toad  Rock.     Let  no  one  imagine  that  the  curious 
sandstone  lump,  which  did  resemble  a  giant  toad,  ,went 
for  nothing  in  the  sentiment  of  the  place.    He  was  our 
great  fetish.     If  he  was  not  alive,  he  was  at  any  rate 
frightfully    uncanny,    and    we    scrambled    around    his 
pedestal  with  feelings  different  from  those  associated 
with  any   other  rock.     One  day   I   made  the   epoch- 
marking  discovery  that  with  a  stretch  and  a  kick  it 
was  possible  to  scramble  up  his  back  and  so  climb  on 
to  the  top  of  him.     It  was  my  first  experience  of  the 
joy  of  rock-climbing — the  concrete  pleasure  of  solving 
a  gymnastic  problem.    I  have  never  been  a  great  rock- 
climber,  but  from  that  day  the  cragsman's  delight  has 


i6  Motmtain  Memories 

been  comprehensible.  One  or  two  rivals  appeared,  and 
our  frequent  ascents  soon  wore  convenient  footholds  in 
the  soft  rock,  whereupon  the  climb  became  popular. 
The  same  development  on  a  bigger  scale  happened 
with  the  Matterhorn,  and  that  scramble  also  lost  its 
glorj^  Probably  the  iron  railings  are  the  result  of  oin* 
remote  initiative. 

I  believe  it  w^as  in  the  next  year,  when  I  w^as  seven 
years  old,  that  we  spent  the  summer  in  North  Wales. 
From  the  top  of  Penmaenmawr  I  remember  to  have 
seen  the  Great  Eastern  far  off  over  the  sea  on  her  way 
from  Liverpool  to  New^  York,  but  the  only  mountain 
that  impressed  me  was  Snowdon,  and  that  impression 
is  still  to  this  day  felt.  It  was  in  course  of  a  family 
driving-tour.  We  had  slept  at  Llanberis.  I  can  recall 
the  collection  of  horses  and  donkeys  at  the  inn  door  in 
the  morning,  and  something  of  the  confusion  of  the 
start.  I  went  off  proudly  on  my  two  legs  holding  my 
father's  hand.  The  ascent  was  a  mere  uphill  walk 
along  a  mule-road,  and  I  remember  nothing  about  it 
till,  to  my  inexpressible  delight,  we  came  into  clouds. 
The  fact  that  a  cloud  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
fog  did  not  then  occm*  to  me.  I  w^as  carried  away  by 
the  name  of  the  thing.  Clouds,  great  white  clouds 
sailing  across  the  blue  sky,  especially  those  big  bulging 
ones  that  puff  themselves  aloft  on  summer  afternoons, 
had  ahvays  delighted  me  since  I  can  remember.  They 
obviously  belonged  to  the  other  world.  I  used  to 
imagine  myself  lying  on  them  and  floating  about. 
Now  I  was  actually  in  the  middle  of  a  cloud.  It  ought 
to  have  disillusioned  me,  but  it  did  not.     Somebody 


Germination  17 


then  said  that  I  was  tired,  and  to  my  indignation  I 
was  hoisted  astride  a  horse  ridden  by  my  aunt,  and 
thus  ignominiously  arrived  on  the  summit,  cUnging 
with  arms  round  her  waist  and  causing  loud  laughter 
in  onlookers. 

The  fog  was  thicker  than  ever  on  the  peak.  Even 
the  great  stone-man  could  only  be  seen  a  few  yards 
off.  It  was  too  high  for  me  to  add  a  stone,  but  my 
cousins'  butler  took  one  from  me  and  set  it  on  the 
top.  The  only  memorable  joy  of  the  descent  was 
running  into  a  bog  and  getting  fairly  stuck.  Our 
carriages  awaited  us  on  the  road  somewhere  down  the 
other  side,  but  I  remember  no  more,  except  being 
awakened  from  time  to  time  in  a  deluge  of  rain.  The 
inn  we  were  to  stop  at  was  reached  in  darkness,  and 
proved  to  be  full.  We  had  to  drive  on.  Where  we 
ultimately  took  shelter  I  know  not,  nor  do  I  remember 
anything  more  of  this  trip,  except  isolated  incidents 
which  do  not  hang  together.  The  fact  that  I  had  been 
up  Snowdon,  the  highest  mountain  in  England  and 
Wales,  and  that  I  had  been  in  the  clouds,  overwhelmed 
all  other  memories  and  induced  a  sense  of  childish 
importance  which  I  trust  no  one  ever  discovered. 
Later  climbs  of  bigger  mountains  shrink  into  insig- 
nificance compared  with  this  immeasurable  triumph. 

Snowdon  possesses  a  singular  power  of  attracting 
mountain-lovers.  The  late  Charles  Edward  Mathews, 
than  whom  none  ever  loved  mountains  more,  used  to 
climb  it  every  year.  Its  steeper  sides  have  been 
scrambled  over,  up  every  conceivable  line  of  ascent  in 
summer  and  winter,  and  have  taken  their  toll  of  active 


i8  Mountain  Memories 

lives.  From  certain  points  of  view  it  has  a  great  and 
kingly  air,  so  that  when  laden  with  winter  snow,  its 
ridges  overhung  with  cornices,  it  has  been  known  to 
deceive  experienced  Swiss  guides  into  a  greatly  exag- 
gerated estimate  of  its  size.  Its  effect  upon  me  was 
due  to  none  of  these  recondite  charms,  but  merely  to 
its  repute.  That  overwhelmed  me,  just  as  the  ignorant 
are  overwhelmed  by  the  mere  name  of  Shakespeare. 
In  the  upshot  this  adventure  set  me  on  the  road  I  was 
destined  to  follow  and,  combined  with  the  other  in- 
cidents above  related,  made  certain  (suitable  chances 
and  facilities  occurring)  that  in  after  life  I  should 
become  a  mountain  climber  and  a  traveller  in  remote 
and  unexplored  regions.  The  child  of  seven  had 
received  the  directing  impulses.  It  only  remained  for 
opportunity  to  give  them  play. 


CHAPTER   III 

ALPS     ON     ALPS     ARISE 

REFERENCE  was  made  in  the  previous  chapter  to 
a  family  of  children  with  whom  we  used  to  dig  the 
Folkestone  sands.     One  of  them  afterward  became  a 
distinguished  member  of  the  Alpine  Club,  and  will  be 
recalled  by  visitors  to  the  Belalp,  which  he  constantly 
frequented,  as  the  Rev.  Arthur  Fairbanks.     Mountain 
air  was  recommended  as  curative  for  some  constitutional 
weakness  from  which  he  suffered  in  youth,  and  thus  it 
was  that  while  I  was  at  school  he  was  climbing  high 
mountains  in  Switzerland.     His  feats  excited  in  me 
boundless  admiration  and  a  vague  longing.     At  last, 
at   long  last,   my  turn   came.     The   staggering   news 
reached  me  at  school  that  I  was  to  join  my  family  in 
Switzerland  for  the  summer  holidays.     I  went  out  to 
the  cricket  field  and  lay  on  my  back  in  the  sunshine, 
gazing   at    some    great    white    clouds    and    wondering 
whether  snow-mountains  could  be  as  splendid.     More 
splendid,  I  conceived,  and  rightly,  they  could  not  be. 
Stogdon  of  Harrow  was  going  out  to  join  Fairbanks 
and  do  guideless  climbing  with  him — the  Jungfrau,  the 
Aletschhorn — great  feats  in  1872,  though  little  thought 
of  nowadays.     I  was  to  travel  to  Berne  with  him,  and 
we  were  joined  by  Walter  Leaf  and  Fred.  Pollock, 
likewise  equipped  for  mountaineering.     The  parapher- 
nalia of  axes  and  ropes,  the  talk  about  climbs  accom- 


20  Motmtain  Memories 

plished  or  foreshadowed,  stimulated  my  already  flaming 
imagination.  Novel  surroundings,  foreign  languages 
spoken,  all  the  un-English  sights  on  every  side,  made 
that  journey  a  dreamlike  experience,  reducing  me  to 
such  utter  silence  that  my  companions  scarcely  knew 
I  was  there,  and  with  utmost  goodwill  can  now  barely 
remember  the  fact. 

The  start  from  Dover  by  the  Ostend  boat  was  a 
blank  disappointment.  It  possessed  none  of  the 
romance  I  had  expected.  My  heart  did  not  leap  to 
my  throat  as  the  paddles  went  round ;  in  fact,  nothing 
particular  seemed  to  be  happening,  only  a  number  of 
incidents  individually  insignificant,  collectively  imim- 
pressive.  There  was  plenty  to  watch,  but,  as  far  as  I 
was  concerned,  little  to  feel.  We  were  away  out  at 
sea  without  the  throb  of  a  pulse.  In  time  we  were  even 
out  of  sight  of  land — a  condition  I  had  wonderingly 
foreseen,  but  again  failed  emotionally  to  affront.  When 
you  gaze  seaward  from  the  shore  you  are  as  much  out 
of  sight  of  land  in  that  direction  as  ever  at  sea.  It  is 
only  when  you  turn  round  that  it  is  otherwise.  This 
was  a  new  discovery  to  me.  Matters  improved  as  we 
approached  Ostend,  for  a  terrific  thunderstorm  opened 
fire,  lightning  striking  down  to  right  and  left  in  start- 
ling proximity,  and  deluges  of  rain.  There  was  no 
lack  of  thrills  in  the  landing. 

The  journey  by  train  through  Brussels,  Metz,  and 
Strasbourg  to  Basle  has  left  singularly  slight  impression 
on  my  memory.  Recently  mended  scars  of  war  excited 
me  a  little,  but  on  the  whole  the  novelty  of  everything 
confounded    reflection.      Sleep,     the    assimilation    of 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  21 

strange  forms  of  food,  new  sights,  swift  changes  filled 
the  hours.  They  were  accomphshing  great  revolutions 
within  me,  but  I  could  not  have  told  what  was  happen- 
ing. The  last  stage  was  a  five-mile  drive  from  Berne 
to  Zimmerwald,  a  village  in  recent  years  notorious  for 
an  International  Socialist  Congress,  but  then  selected 
for  my  father  as  the  quietest  of  quiet  resorts,  with  fine 
air  and  his  Berne  physician  within  reach. 

Zimmerwald  sits  on  a  green  shelf  overlooking  the 
valley  between  Berne  and  Thun.  That  is  the  fore- 
ground of  its  view.  Farther  off  comes  the  Lake  of 
Thun,  with  the  Niesen  and  Stockhorn  hills  to  the  right, 
and  other  green  foothills  stretching  round  from  right 
to  left.  Above  and  beyond  them  all  the  whole  white 
row  of  the  Oberland  giants  reaches  into  the  sky.  Little 
of  this  was  visible  during  the  first  day  or  two,  for  it 
rained  and  rained.  Wet  fields  and  woods  were  our 
immediate  surroundings,  and  for  daily  interest  the 
cheese-making  operations  in  the  village  factory,  the 
iirst  stages  of  which  I  was  never  up  early  enough  to 
behold.  Life,  in  fact,  was  the  least  bit  humdrum,  full 
of  little  novelties,  but  not  exciting.  At  last  came  a 
morning  when  the  sun  shone  through  my  window  and 
I  looked  unexpectantly  forth — lo  !  there  were  the  snow- 
mountains,  radiant,  overwhelming,  the  whole  row  of 
them,  from  Bliimlisalp  to  Finsteraarhorn,  glittering  in 
a  sun-mantle  of  new-fallen  snow.  They  were  not  in 
the  least  like  clouds,  nor  like  anything  I  had  ever 
beheld  or  dreamed  of.  Had  they  been  built  of  trans- 
parent crystal,  they  could  not  have  been  more  brilliant. 
I  felt  them  as  no  part  of  this  earth  or  in  any  way 


22 


Mountain  Me^nories 


belonging  to  the  world  of  experience.  Here  at  last 
was  the  other  world,  visible,  inaccessible,  no  doubt, 
but  authentically  there ;  actual  yet  incredible,  veritably 
solid  with  an  aspect  of  eternal  endurance,  yet  also 
ethereal ;  overwhelmingly  magnificent  but  attracti\'e 
too.  No  dimmest  idea  of  climbing  them  entered  my 
mind ;  I  gazed  and  gazed,  and  all  day  long  returned 
to  gaze  again  with  a  formless,  inarticulate,  intoxicating 
emotion  that,  alas !  can  never  return.  They  were  not 
individual  to  me — Jungfrau  and  Eiger  and  the  rest — I 
resented  being  bothered  with  their  names.  They  were 
just  the  walls  of  heaven.  Who  beholding  those  for  the 
first  time  would  ask  the  nomenclature  of  the  towers? 
For  three  weeks  this  vision  recurred  at  frequent  inter- 
vals. The  wonder  of  the  sunset  dyed  them.  Night 
blanched  and  then  hid  them.  Clouds  and  storm 
enveloped  them.  Limpid  air  displayed  their  every 
detail.  They  were  always  the  same,  yet  ever  changing 
like  the  face  of  the  beloved.  Each  new  aspect  was  a 
new  revelation.  Familiarity  without  approximation 
bred  increasing  reverence. 

These  three  weeks  were  for  me  a  time  of  intense 
restlessness.  I  wanted  to  wander  away  toward  the 
great  white  wall,  but  w'as  too  3'oung  and  ignorant  to 
be  permitted  any  distant  excursion  alone.  Twice  a 
day  I  shot  out  of  Zimmerwald  in  one  direction  or 
another,  and  always  had  to  return  unsatisfied.  That 
the  mountains  were  drawing  me  to  them  I  did  not  then 
recognise,  save  in  the  case  of  the  Niesen,  which  seemed 
to  be  within  reach  of  my  individual  enterprise  had  I 
been  free.     My  dear  father,  the  saintliest  man  I  have 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  23 

ever  known,  whose  whole  Hfe  showed  no  flaw  even 
under  the  microscopic  gaze  of  his  own  family,  could  not 
be  expected  to  realise  the  tumult  through  which  I  was 
passing.  Every  morning,  at  slow  leisure  after  a  rather 
late  breakfast  and  even  on  the  finest  days,  he  gathered 
us  into  his  room  for  Bible-reading  and  exposition,  last- 
ing often  upward  of  an  hour.  My  impatience  under 
this  trial  and  the  effort  to  hide  it  were  almost  unen- 
durable. When  at  last  the  books  were  closed,  I  flung 
out  into  the  open,  hating  Bibles  and  rehgion  and 
bursting  with  desire  for  Nature,  careless  of  promised 
heaven  or  threatened  hell,  and  just  longing  to  get  away 
and  wander  anywhere  out  of  the  constraint  of  home 
surroundings. 

This  reaction  was  intensified  by  devotion  at  that 
time  to  astronomy.  I  had  brought  with  me  my  beloved 
three-inch  telescope,  and  spent  every  fine  night  star- 
gazing in  accordance  with  the  directions  of  an  excellent 
little  handbook  by  Proctor.  He  was  my  prophet  in 
those  days,  and  I  used  to  write  him  letters,  to  which 
he  was  good  enough  sometimes  to  reply.  The  normal 
processes  of  public-school  education  were  hateful  to  me. 
I  always  loathed  games,  as  I  did  class-rooms  and  church 
services  and  all  the  places  and  occasions  when  we  had 
to  conform  to  rules.  The  fact  that  one  was  taught 
languages  made  me  rush  hungrily  to  science,  and  all 
that  I  ever  learnt  at  school  was  self-taught  in  play- 
time. Hence  the  joy  of  astronomy.  It  could  only 
be  cultivated  by  breaking  rules.  Bed-time  come,  the 
lights  out,  and  everything  quiet,  I  used  to  creep  down- 
stairs again,  get  out  my  telescope,   and  spend  hours 


24  Mowitam  Memories 


finding  double-stars,  nebulae  and  star-clusters,  or  draw- 
ing the  momentary  aspect  of  Jupiter's  ruddy  belts  and 
watching  the  passage  of  the  shadow  of  his  moons. 
Saturn  had  his  turn,  and  one  morning  just  before  sun- 
rise I  found  Mercury  and  beheld  his  slender  crescent 
trembling  in  the  air  currents  of  dawn.  The  clear  sky 
of  Zimmerwald  revealed  some  star-sights  in  my  small 
telescope  which  had  not  been  resolvable  in  England. 
One  evening  after  sunset  a  brilliant  light  shone  out 
from  the  crest  of  the  Finsteraarhorn.  What  could  it 
be?  I  rushed  for  my  telescope  in  wild  excitement,  but 
it  was  only  the  moon  rising.  She  sailed  aloft  in  full- 
orbed  splendour — a  memorable  sight.  Thus  by  day 
there  were  mountains  and  forests,  by  night  the  stars ; 
it  was  a  life  of  swiftly  changing  emotions  which  no  one 
else  could  share  or  understand,  for  I  was  incapable  of 
giving  them  expression. 

Freed  from  Zimmerwald,  we  went  to  the  Schweizer- 
hof,  at  Lucerne,  my  first  experience  of  a  large  hotel. 
It  impressed  me  enormously,  and  so  did  everything 
else — the  view  of  the  lake,  the  organ  recital  in  the 
church,  Thorwaldsen's  Lion,  Pilatus,  the  covered 
bridge — I  weltered  in  novelties.  An  expedition  to  the 
lligi  failed.  We  were  too  proud  to  go  up  by  train  and 
too  slow  to  reach  the  top  in  time  if  we  were  to  catch 
the  last  boat  for  Brunnen  and  join  the  parents  that 
evening  at  Axenstein.  The  Staffel  was  our  highest 
point.  We  ignominiously  descended  by  rail.  At  Axen- 
stein both  mountains  and  water  were  closer  at  hand 
than  at  Zimmerwald.  We  were  perched  on  a  high 
promontory  overlooking  two  arms  of  the  lake,  and  had 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  25 

a  considerable  hill  behind.     Two  days  of  steady  rain 
dammed  back  my  enthusiasm,  but  on  the  third,   in 
company  .with  a  young  companion,  I  was  able  to  walk 
up  the  Frohnalpstock,  the  first  Alpine  summit  I  ever 
attained — 6,296  feet  high,   as  I  proudly  registered — 
but  the  summit  was  enveloped  in  dense  clouds,  and 
there  was  no  view.    The  glory  of  the  ascent  was,  how- 
ever, joy  enough.     Day  after  day  it  rained,  but  on 
the  fourth  fate  was  kind,  and  we  set  out  to  climb  the 
My  then.     It  looks  such  a  precipitous  peak  from  the 
lake,   but  a  path   leads  right  to  the  top,   and  there 
is  no  glory  in  the  scramble.    This  time  we  had  a  clear 
view  all  round  and  the  sense  of  being  perched  aloft  on 
a  real  peak.    How  many  ranges  and  lakes  we  over- 
looked I  cannot  remember.    All  that  remains  with  me 
is  the  great  emotion  of  beholding  so  much  at  once. 
Schwyz  was  at  our  feet  like  the  map  of  a  town.     The 
lake  stretched  away  in  its  deep  hollow  round  the  foot 
of  the  Rigi.     The  Oberland  giants  just  showed  in  the 
far  distance.    I  think  what  impressed  me  most  was  the 
Swiss  plain  stretching  away  and  away  like  the  counties 
from  the  Worcestershire  Beacon.     But  it  was  not  so 
much  what  I  saw  as  the  fact  that  I  had  climbed  a  real 
peak  that  kindled  my  enthusiastic  joy.     I  knew  now 
just  what  I  wanted  to  do — to  climb  peak  after  peak, 
all  the  peaks  in  the  Alps,  all  the  mountains  in  the 
world.     Every  other  occupation  seemed  trifling  com- 
pared with  that.     I  came  down  from  the  Mythen,  like 
Moses  from  Sinai,  bearing  with  me  the  law  of  my  life. 
The  next  day  opened  for  us  a  new  and  thrilling 
adventure — a  three-days'   drive  over  the  Furka  Pass 


26  Motmtain  Me^nories 

and  down  the  Rhone  valley.  I  sat  gloriously  on  the 
box  by  the  driver,  my  sisters  in  the  banquette,  my 
parents  inside,  and  the  luggage  behind.  It  was  a 
.wonderful  experience,  and  stands  for  me  as  emblem 
of  those  romantic  drives  over  Europe  of  which  we  have 
been  robbed  by  railways.  It  would  weary  the  reader 
were  I  to  tell  him  all  the  emotional  happenings  of  those 
unequalled  days.  The  growing  wildness  of  the  scenery 
as  we  mounted  the  valley  of  the  Reuss  thrilled  me  to 
the  core,  culminating  at  the  Devil's  Bridge.  Even  the 
mouth  of  the  St.  Gothard  tunnel,  then  a-drilling, 
seemed  more  remarkable  than  that  of  any  other  tunnel 
in  the  world.  The  bald  scenery  surrounding  Ander- 
matt  caused  no  disillusion,  for  were  there  not  patches 
of  real  snow  visible  not  so  very  far  away? 

I  w^as  far  too  excited  next  day  to  sit  in  the 
carriage  during  its  slow  ascent  of  the  Furka,  but 
hurried  ahead  and  made  short  cuts  at  the  zigzags,  thus 
arriving  near  the  top  some  hours  in  advance.  Patches 
of  snow  lay  about.  I  said  to  myself  that  I  was  above 
the  snow-line.  The  snout  of  the  Tiefen  glacier  was 
within  reach.  I  climbed  to  it — a  real  glacier  at  last, 
with  crevasses.  From  the  pass  itself  the  wonderful 
view  dwarfed  every  previous  experience,  for  there  in 
front  was  the  shattered  ice-fall  of  the  Rhone  glacier, 
with  neve  above  it  and  the  Galenstock  on  high ;  but  the 
Finsteraarhorn  (I  believe  it  was  the  Finsteraarhorn) 
overpowered  every  other  peak  and  almost  crushed  me 
with  its  visible  enormity.  Glaciers  had  already  taken 
hold  of  my  imagination,  and  I  had  read  about  them 
in  Tyndall's  books,  though  I  can't  exactly  remember 


Alps  071  Alps  Arise  27 

when.  An  unfailing  attendant  at  his  winter  lectures 
to  children  at  the  Royal  Institution,  I  conceived  him 
to  be  about  the  greatest  man  alive,  and  was  ready  to 
worship  at  any  shrine  where  he  ministered.  The  fact 
that  he  loved  mountains  gave  a  welcome  sanction  to 
my  own  enthusiasm,  which  found  little  echo  in  the 
home  circle.  The  approach,  therefore,  to  the  bank  of 
the  ice-fall,  where  veritable  semes  were  visible  near  at 
hand,  was  felt  to  be  an  immense  opportunity.  Even 
the  long  afternoon  drive  down  the  Rhone  valley,  with 
the  Weisshorn  resplendent  at  the  end  of  it,  paled  into 
insignificance  compared  with  the  high  emotion  roused 
by  a  passing  vision  of  some  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
abode  of  snow. 

A  night  at  Brieg,  a  morning's  drive  to  Visp,  a 
joyous  farewell  to  the  old  people,  and  we  three  young- 
sters were  off  on  our  own  to  join  friends  for  a  few 
days  at  Zermatt.  Proud  commander  of  the  caravan  I 
marched  up  the  valley,  my  sisters  and  the  baggage  on 
mules,  and  felt  as  though  we  were  off  for  a  journey  of 
exploration  through  untravelled  lands.  In  twelve  miles 
that  adventure  ended,  and  the  remainder  of  the  way 
was  accomplished  in  a  springless  carriage.  A  party  of 
four  sunburnt  American  climbers,  with  two  guides, 
followed.  They  were  to  me  no  less  than  Homeric 
heroes.  All  went  smoothly  as  far  as  Randa,  but  a 
little  beyond  the  road  was  destroyed  for  a  hundred 
yards  or  more  by  the  bursting  of  a  glacier  lake  or  other 
high  mountain  cistern.  Where  the  road  should  have 
been  was  a  wide  cataract,  rolling  stones  down  with 
it   and    raging   furiously.     Helped    by   a   number   of 


28  Motmtai7i  Memories 

assembled  villagers  we  got  across,  leaping  from  stone 
to  stone  and  walking  along  planks,  but  to  bring  over 
the  vehicles  seemed  impossible.  Presently  the  torrent 
.widened  and  shallowed,  so  that  the  men  could  half  drag 
half  carry  them  over.  Without  further  adventure  or 
sight  of  the  beclouded  Matterhorn  w^e  joined  our 
friends  at  the  Mont  Cervin  Hotel. 

Next  day,  of  course,  we  climbed  the  Gornergrat. 
The  weather  was  perfect.  For  the  first  time  I  looked 
down  upon  all  the  course  of  a  great  glacier  and  beheld 
snow-mountains  from  relatively  near  at  hand.  Curiously 
enough  I  cannot  definitely  remember  the  impression 
made  upon  me  by  that  wonderful  view.  I  only  recall 
sitting  with  my  legs  over  the  edge  of  the  chff  and 
intensely  enjoying  that  novel  position.  The  Hornli 
was  another  goal,  but  my  party  only  reached  the 
Schwarzsee.  At  the  moment  of  return  I  encountered 
a  solitary  Englishman.  Joining  on  to  him,  ,we  aban- 
doned the  others  and  continued  the  ascent.  We 
reached  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  there,  finding  traces 
of  a  party  at  that  moment  climbing  the  Cervin, 
gloriously  followed  their  illustrious  footsteps,  even  to 
the  rocks  of  the  mountain  itself.  That  crow^ded  hour 
of  life  will  never  be  forgotten.  Sunday  followed,  and 
beyond  it  but  one  day  more  of  this  Paradise  before  we 
had  to  start  for  home.  I  longed  inexpressibly  to  spend 
it  on  the  Cima  di  Jazzi,  the  highest  flight  my  imagina- 
tion could  dare ;  but  an  even  more  dazzling  prospect 
opened.  Hunting  up  my  friend  of  the  Hornh  at  the 
Monte  Rosa  Hotel,  I  put  my  plan  before  him.  His 
answer  .was  that  he  had  arranged  to  go  to  the  St. 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  29 

Theodule  Pass  next  morning,  perhaps  also  up  the 
Breithorn,  and  that  I  might  come  with  him  if  I  would. 
Would  I  not?  How  I  thanked  my  stars  there  were 
no  parents  about  to  interpose  refusal.  I  went  to  bed 
in  the  seventh  heaven  of  expectation,  and  when  roused 
at  three  in  the  morning  received  the  summons  with 
unique  acquiescence. 

Breakfast  was  at  the  Monte  Rosa  Hotel,  but  my 
companion  still  slumbered.  He  said  he  was  ill.  After 
infinite  trouble  I  shifted  him.  My  own  breakfast  was 
glorified  by  the  presence  of  Passingham,  a  climber 
whose  feats  commanded  my  unbounded  admiration. 
Had  he  not  recently  ascended  all  the  giants  about, 
each  in  succession  in  a  single  day  from  Zermatt? 
Surely  such  companionship  was  an  admission  to  the 
illustrious  brotherhood.  The  weather  promised  badly. 
The  sky  was  overclouded ;  there  was  a  south  wind ;  the 
glass  had  fallen.  Little  cared  I  if  only  my  man  would 
start.  Then  his  boots  were  uncomfortable,  and  had 
to  be  unlaced  and  relaced  again  and  yet  again.  He 
did  not  w^ant  to  go.  It  was  five  o'clock  before  I  got 
him  on  the  road.  I  longed  to  make  up  for  lost  time 
by  hurrying.  He  was  a  slow  walker.  However,  we 
did  make  progress,  and  at  last  reached  the  edge  of 
the  glacier  and  halted  for  breakfast.  Presently  another 
halt  was  called  that  my  companion  might  take  a  dose 
of  medicine — fifteen  minutes  lost.  Then  he  must  stop 
again  to  relace  his  boots.  I  could  have  beaten  in  his 
skull,  but  had  enough  gumption  to  know  that  tender 
handling  was  essential,  or  he  would  turn  back  and 
destroy  my  hopes.     That  we  were  actually  on  a  nive 


30  Motmtaiii  Memo7aes 

with  hidden  crevasses  in  it  was  ah-eady  a  huge  joy. 
What  mattered  the  thick  coating  of  new  snow  into 
which  we  sank  deeply  or  that  there  were  many  clouds 
about?  The  Cervin  was  clear.  I  could  see  the  Italian 
arete  and  recognise  its  various  features  immortalised 
for  me  by  the  heroic  exploits  of  Tyndall  and 
Whymper. 

On  the  pass  a  thick  mist  drove  in  our  faces.  Rocks 
dimly  loomed  through  it ;  the  snowfield  melted  away 
in  its  vagueness.  We  entered  the  hut,  my  companion 
with  joy,  I  with  foreboding.  He  evidently  wanted 
that  to  be  the  end,  but  I  was  aflame  with  ambition  to 
climb  the  Breithorn.  The  mere  figures  of  its  altitude, 
13,685  feet,  were  intoxicating.  An  hour  passed  and 
still  he  w^ould  not  move.  He  was  drying  his  socks 
at  the  fire.  It  took  another  half-hour  to  kindle  his 
feeble  enthusiasm  and  lace  his  boots  satisfactorily,  but 
we  got  him  going  at  last,  the  guide  and  I.  The 
weather  was  not  so  bad.  There  were  many  rifts  in 
the  clouds,  and  glimpses  over  the  Italian  foothills. 
To  be  roped  together,  wading  a  snowfield,  was  a 
rapturous  delight.  I  had  not  the  least  feeling  of 
fatigue  and  scarcely  knew  I  had  a  body.  Then  came 
the  long  and  rather  steep  slope  and  a  hundred  and 
fifty  steps  to  be  cut.  What  more  could  one  desire 
who  before  had  only  read  about  step-cutting?  At  last 
we  reached  the  summit.  An  incredible  adventure  was 
accomplished,  and  my  satisfaction  knew  no  bounds. 
If  ever  milestone  was  erected  along  the  road  of  Hfe, 
one  was  then  set  up  for  me. 

Our  guide,  whose  name  I  do  not  remember,  but 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  31 


from  internal  evidence  I  guess  he  may  have  been 
Franz  Biener,  thoroughly  entered  into  the  spirit  of 
my  mood.  Through  holes  in  the  clouds  he  showed 
me  Milan,  Turin,  and  half  Lombardy.  I  am  sure  he 
would  not  have  boggled  at  the  Mediterranean  itself 
if  I  had  asked  for  it.  It  is  my  impression  that  we 
really  saw  little;  what  I  do  remember  is  the  big 
crevasses  and  other  features  of  the  nive^  the  step- 
cutting,  the  glossy  ice-patches,  the  shattered  rocks  of 
the  Little  Matterhorn ;  and  how  different  all  these 
features  looked  from  near  at  hand  than  from  far  away. 
They  were  even  stranger  thus  and  not  a  whit  less 
romantic ;  but  in  truth  the  mystery  of  the  other  world, 
as  I  had  conceived  it  from  Zimmerwald,  was  passing. 
I  had  already  learnt  that  the  Cervin  was  not  a  solid, 
changeless  rock,  but  a  mass  of  shattered  ruin,  with 
stones  continually  falling  down  its  flanks.  The 
strangeness,  the  inhospitality  to  man  of  the  snow 
regions  was,  however,  obvious  enough  to  replace  the 
mystery  of  distance  by  a  new  romanticism. 

My  companion's  laziness  henceforward  stood  me 
in  good  stead.  It  prolonged  our  stay  on  the  summit, 
and  occasioned  many  halts  on  the  descent.  A  wild 
glissade  carried  us  down  to  the  snowfield.  We  were 
back  at  the  hut  on  the  col  quite  quickly.  There  we 
halted  again,  and  my  companion  now  informed  me 
that  he  was  not  going  dovvii  to  Zermatt,  but  to  the 
Riff  el.  It  was  eight  o'clock  before  we  had  descended 
on  to  the  Corner  Glacier,  crossed  it,  climbed  the  cliff 
beyond,  and  approached  the  hotel.  The  excitement 
was  over;  night  was  coming  on.     I  had  but  a  dim 


32  Mountain  Memories 

idea  of  the  way  to  Zcrmatt,  and  no  lantern.  I  said 
good-bye  to  my  companion  and  hurried  downward. 
The  path  was  soon  lost,  and  so  w^as  I.  Whymper's 
remembered  adventure  under  like  circumstances  de- 
cided me  to  climb  again  to  the  Riffelhaus,  whose 
lights  were  still  visible.  There  I  obtained  the  services 
of  a  guide  and  ran  down  with  him  to  join  my  anxious 
friends  at  Zermatt.  It  gave  me  unspeakable  joy  to 
learn  that  they  had  been  thinking  of  sending  out  a 
search-party  after  me. 

From  a  stretch  of  the  Visp  valley  road  the  Breit- 
horn  is  in  full  view.  The  reader  may  imagine  with 
what  feelings  I  gazed  up  at  it  during  our  downward 
journey  on  the  following  day.  We  drove  from  Visp 
to  Sierre,  slept  there,  and  proceeded  by  train  the 
following  day  to  Vevey  and  Chexbres,  stopping  en 
route  to  see  the  gloomy  and  booming  grandeurs  of 
the  Gorge  du  Trient.  From  the  road  to  St.  Maurice 
the  sharp  peaks  of  the  Dent  du  Midi  attracted  my 
passing  wonder,  and  later  on  its  broad  face,  as  seen 
from  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  filled  me  with  admiration. 
Carfrae,  who  had  been  my  protector  at  Zermatt, 
though  not  on  the  Brei thorn,  w^as  at  Chexbres,  and 
there  were  still  two  days  to  spare.  When  he  sug- 
gested that  we  should  spend  them  in  an  ascent  of  the 
Dent  du  Midi  my  cup  of  joy  overflowed.  True,  that 
peak  is  only  10,696  feet  high,  a  dwarf  compared  with 
the  Breithorn,  but  it  has  the  air  of  a  great  mountain, 
and  when  presented  end  on,  as  we  had  seen  it  from 
the  train,  it  looks  deceptively  inaccessible.  Next  day 
we  went  by  boat  and  train  to  Monthey,  walked  up 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  33 

the  pretty  Val  d'llliez  to  Champery,  engaged  Pierre 
Caillet  as  guide,  and  slept  in  a  chalet  on  the  Bonaveau 
Alp.  It  consisted  of  three  communicating  compart- 
ments. One  contained  cows  and  sheep ;  the  next  was 
given  over  to  cheese-making ;  the  third  held  beds  for 
the  accommodation  of  strangers,  already  in  part 
occupied  by  four  Frenchmen.  The  bedding  was  a 
heap  of  hay  covered  by  a  sheet  and  equipped  with  a 
blanket.  The  sheet  soon  wandered  and  the  hay  got 
loose ;  we  slept  in  it  rather  than  upon  it.  It  swarmed 
with  life.  Before  three  o'clock  we  were  off,  follow- 
ing a  lantern.  An  invisible  torrent  roared  near  at 
hand.  One  reach  of  the  narrow  path  was  called  the 
Mauvais  Pas,  for  no  special  reason,  but  it  added  to 
the  day's  glory.  All  was  easy  enough,  but  for  me 
most  exciting — the  darkness,  the  noise,  the  flashing 
of  the  light  on  partly  disclosed  shapes,  our  own  moving 
shadows.  Imagined  precipices  were  close  below  us. 
Orion  lying  on  his  side  was  rising  in  the  East.  Thus 
we  came  out  into  daylight  and  the  opener  valley  be- 
tween our  mountain  and  the  snowy  Tour  Sallieres. 
After  breakfasting  we  turned  up  to  the  ridge  and 
followed  it  a  while,  with  a  cliff  falling  away  on  one 
hand,  a  scree-slope  on  the  other.  Finally  we  took  to 
the  screes  on  the  south  face  and  slithered  and  pounded 
up  them  and  the  south-east  ridge  to  the  top.  No. 
ascent  could  have  been  simpler,  but  a  fervid  imagina- 
tion magnified  each  of  its  details  to  heroic  dimensions. 
If  we  started  a  shoot  of  stones  it  seemed  to  me  a  stone- 
avalanche.  Every  gully  might  be  stone-swept,  and 
emergence  from  it  a  fortunate  escape.     I  believed  the 


34  Alotmtain  Memories 

ridge  to  be  a  narrow  arete,  such  as  I  had  read  of.  A 
httle  snow  in  a  sloping  hollow  quahfied  it  to  be  called 
a  couloir. 

By  nine  o'clock  we  were  on  the  top,  and  all  the 
Mont  Blanc  range  was  spread  out  before  us,  cloudless 
and  clear  in  every  detail.  It  is  a  wonderful  view — 
the  great  mountains  on  one  side,  the  lake  on  the  other, 
with  far  away  Jura  and  the  Swiss  lowlands  beyond. 
Only  in  the  north  were  there  any  clouds,  just  a  line 
of  them,  floating  peacefully  above  the  well-defined 
horizon  with  a  strip  of  blue  between.  It  was  the  first 
characteristic  high  mountain  panorama  I  had  beheld, 
and  the  first  time  I  had  seen  Mont  Blanc.  Nothing 
more  perfect  could  have  closed  my  first  Alpine  season. 
Much  of  the  view  photographed  itself  in  my  memory 
and  remains  with  me  to-day,  especially  the  contrast 
between  the  brilliant  snow  ranges  on  one  side  and  the 
extraordinarily  peaceful  aspect  of  the  lower  hills  and 
the  lake  on  the  other. 

The  descent  was  a  bagatelle.  We  ran  down  the 
screes,  and  were  often  carried  by  them,  thus  quickly 
reaching  the  col  at  the  foot  of  the  Tour  Sallieres. 
Grass  slopes  followed.  In  due  time  we  reached  the 
edge  of  a  cliff  and  looked  down  on  the  Gorge  du  Trient 
Hotel.  The  meandering  road  lengthened  the  descent 
to  it  beyond  all  expectation,  but  we  arrived  at  the 
railway  station  at  last,  and  at  Chexbres  about  one 
o'clock  on  Sunday  morning.  On  Monday  we  started 
for  England  and  school. 

Thus  ended  the  most  fateful  six  weeks  of  my 
life.     They  not  merely  decided  ambitions  for  me,  but 


Alps  on  Alps  Arise  35 

fashioned  tastes.  I  had  awakened  to  the  beauty  of  the 
world.  My  horizon  was  no  longer  England.  I  had  dis- 
covered the  romance  of  movement.  All  the  realms  of 
art  remained  closed,  but  Nature  had  opened  wide  her 
doors.  The  mountain- world  had  become,  and  was  long 
to  remain,  the  home  of  my  fancy.  Though  it  was  no 
longer  a  vague  fairyland,  it  retained  its  mystery  and 
had  gained  in  magnificence.  I  had  touched  only 
the  fringe  of  its  garment,  but  that  contact  had  given 
me  life.  I  returned  to  the  duties  of  every  day  as  to 
a  strange  country,  leaving  my  heart  behind  in  the 
hills. 


CHAPTER   IV 

TIROL 

A  SUMMER  in  England,  another  in  Ireland, 
Belgium,  and  on  the  Rhine  intervened  before  I  saw 
the  Alps  again.  By  that  time  I  was  an  undergraduate 
at  Cambridge,  and  went  abroad  with  an  orthodox  read- 
ing party.  It  must  be  regarded  as  a  lucky  chance  that 
took  us  in  1875  to  Sterzing,  on  the  Brenner  railway, 
for  it  not  only  plunged  us  into  the  midst  of  wonder- 
ful scenery,  but  carried  us  right  back  into  the  Middle 
Ages.  The  little  town  contained  in  the  core  of  it  not 
a  single  modern  house.  It  was  pure  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  century.  The  people  lived  according  to  old 
tradition,  grandparents,  parents,  children  and  farm 
labourers  all  in  one  house  together.  Every  afternoon, 
returned  from  the  fields,  they  prayed  loudly  in  family 
assemblies,  saying  so  many  Aves  and  Paternosters, 
the  housefather  and  his  dependents  in  alternation. 
The  whole  town  resounded  with  prayer.  At  night  the 
watchman  went  his  rounds,  singing  the  hour  and  call- 
ing for  care  of  fire  and  lights,  "  that  no  mischance 
may  happen."  Much  of  the  furniture  of  the  houses 
was  old.  It  was  a  wonderful  place.  Its  effect  upon 
me  was  that  of  an  agreeable  strangeness,  one  of  the 
nice  things  of  "  abroad."  But  the  effect  sunk  in,  and 
when  later  I  became  an  archaeologist,  memories  of 
Sterzing  were  found  to  carry  me  not  merely  away 

36 


Tirol  37 

to  Tirol,  but  back  into  the  past.  For  three  months 
we  Uved  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Had  Kaiser  Max  come 
riding  down  the  main  street,  as  in  life  he  often  rode, 
he  would  have  seen  Uttle  to  give  him  the  shock  of 
novelty. 

Sterzing  is  not  a  mountaineering  centre,  but  from 
it  several  vallej^s  radiate  toward  various  mountain 
groups.  It  is  a  day's  journey  to  reach  any  of  them. 
Often  at  sunset  the  Dolomites,  perhaps  Tofana  and 
Ciiistallo,  flamed  crimson  far  away  down  the  main 
valley  to  the  south-east.  Two  parallel  valleys  to  the 
west  emerge  from  the  snowy  mass  of  the  S tubal  group. 
The  railway  led  to  the  Brenner  Pass,  some  twelve 
miles  to  the  north.  Eastward  the  Pfitscherthal  went 
straight  for  the  Hochfeiler,  highest  of  the  Zillerthal 
Alps. 

It  took  us  some  time  to  realise  these  simple  geo- 
graphical facts,  for  no  good  maps  existed  and  there 
were  no  local  guides.  A  few  brave  chamois  hunters 
had  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  parts  visited  by  them 
in  pursuit  of  game,  but  that  did  not  include  routes  of 
ascent  to  mountain  summits.  There  was  not  an  ice- 
axe,  nor  any  man  that  knew  the  use  of  one,  within 
a  circuit  of  twenty  miles.  It  was,  in  fact,  by  actual 
walking  up  the  various  radiating  valleys  and  by 
scrambhng  up  the  nearest  hills  that  we  gradually 
learned  the  local  topography,  and  this  process  was  an 
important  element  in  the  education  of  at  least  one  of 
us.  By  the  time  we  left  the  country,  after  a  three 
months'  stay,  I  had  obtained  a  general  knowledge 
of  how  this  particular  district  was  shaped,   how  the 


38  Motmtain  Memories 

valleys  spread  and  the  ridges  between  them  branched. 
The  lesson  thus  learned  jvas  of  universal  applicability. 
If  we  had  not  been  a  real  reading  party  we  might 
have  accomplished  much  more  climbing  among  the 
snows.  As  it  was  we  only  snatched  week-ends,  and 
they  were  often  rainy.  At  Zermatt  I  had  at  least 
absorbed  some  idea  of  the  technique  of  the  modern 
climber's  craft  at  the  stage  depicted  in  Whymper's 
"  Scrambles."  Around  Sterzing  we  were,  however, 
in  this  matter  also  back  in  the  Middle  Ages — no 
guides,  no  maps,  no  traditions,  no  known  routes.  No 
one  could  tell  us  what  peaks  had  been  climbed  or 
whence.  Even  the  names  of  the  mountains  were 
seldom  certainly  known.  Of  our  party  I  alone  had 
any  climbing  experience  or  enthusiasm.  My  par- 
ticular friend,  F.  O.  Bower  (now  a  learned  professor, 
F.R.S.,  etc.),  proved  a  cordial  second.  For  me,  there- 
fore, it  was  an  emotionally  tantalising  season.  The 
snow-world  was  as  attractive  as  ever,  but  it  was 
generally  just  out  of  reach.  The  peaks,  moreover, 
were  relatively  small  and  lacked  the  glamour  of  fame. 
The  intelligence  was  awakened  more  than  the  emotions 
by  this  summer's  experiences.  True,  there  was  a 
considerable  element  of  exploration  about  our  longer 
expeditions.  We  had  always  to  find  the  way,  and 
when  we  crossed  a  pass  we  seldom  knew  exactly  where 
it  was  going  to  bring  us  out.  Exploration  is  always 
exciting.  Our  most  ambitious  effort  was  to  climb 
the  Zuckerhiitl,  the  highest  of  the  Stubai  group,  but 
we  did  not  succeed,  and  had  to  be  content  with  nearer 
peaks — the    Wilder    Freiger   and   the    Botzer — when 


Tirol  39 

distance  proved  too  great.  We  knew  that  the  higher 
summit  had  been  reached  by  a  snow  arete .  Judging 
that  steps  would  have  to  be  cut,  I  caused  a  rude  pick 
to  be  made  by  the  local  blacksmith.  It  was  far  too 
heavy,  and  no  opportunity  of  using  it  for  the  intended 
purpose  arrived,  but  in  later  years  it  fulfilled  a  useful 
function  in  my  coal  cellar,  and  may  still  be  serving. 

My  diary  is  full  of  topographical  details,  and  but 
rarely  bursts  into  turgid  declamation  over  the  glories 
of  the  view.  In  fact,  only  two  scenes  have  imprinted 
themselves  upon  my  memory  :  the  flaming  Dolomites 
at  sunset,  and  the  white  wall  of  the  Uebelthal  Icefall 
beheld  at  dawn  shining  beyond  the  dark  gorge  below 
the  glacier's  snout.  I  also  recall  with  delight  hours 
of  wandering  up  and  down  some  lovely  valleys  beside 
laughing  waters  and  through  deep-shadowed  forests. 
For  the  most  part  it  was  the  phenomena  of  Nature 
and  their  meaning  that  kept  my  attention  on  the 
stretch  and  are  recorded  in  my  journal.  Traces  of 
former  glacier  action  are  frequently  referred  to, 
moutonnes  rocks,  ice-scratchings,  and  their  direction 
as  showing  which  way  the  ice  had  flowed ;  old  moraines, 
too,  and  other  signs  of  previous  extension  of  the  ice 
sheet.  On  the  top  of  the  Botzer,  through  gaps  in 
clouds,  I  am  taking  the  bearings  of  peaks  with  a 
prismatic  compass  and  identifying  them  on  a  bad 
map.  There  are  frequent  readings  of  the  barometer 
and  deductions  of  the  height.  Temperature  is  not 
estimated,  but  measured.  The  mental  attitude  is  that 
of  science  rather  than  .wonder.  I  am  always  sketching, 
but  the  sketches  aim  at  accuracy  of  mountain  form 


40  Mountain  Memories 

with  special  reference  to  the  distribution  of  the  snow, 
hardly  ever  at  an  enjoyed  effect.  Each  peak  has 
been  carefully  identified  and  named ;  there  are  refer- 
ences to  its  aspect  from  other  points  of  view.  In  all 
this  there  is  little  romance.  Something,  indeed,  must 
be  allowed  for  the  almost  unbroken  badness  of  the 
weather.  Of  the  four  highest  summits  we  reached, 
we  were  in  fog  on  three  and  among  broken  clouds  on 
the  other.  My  companions  were  students  of  mathe- 
matics. Rigid  dynamics  was  my  own  subject  of 
study.  Hence  the  poetic  aspect  of  things  gave  .waj'' 
to  the  scientific  and  rapture  was  replaced  by  efforts 
toward  intelligent  comprehension. 

The  composition  of  our  party  provided  compensa- 
tions which  were  to  be  of  a  permanently  moulding 
value.  If  my  friends  were  not  wild  lovers  of  mountain 
beauty,  two  of  them  were  serious  musicians  and  others 
were  imbued  with  a  nascent  enthusiasm  for  works  of 
art.  On  their  way  out  some  had  stopped  at  Munich, 
and  brought  away  photographs  of  admired  Old 
Masters.  My  single  link  with  them  at  first  was  the 
fact  that,  the  year  before,  I  had  seen  the  Rubens 
pictures  at  Antwerp,  and  vaguely  wondered  at  them, 
though  actually  without  delight.  These  photographs 
formed  frequent  subject  of  discussion  and  stimulated 
a  desire  in  me  to  behold  the  originals  and  share  the 
pleasure  so  obviously  felt  by  my  friends.  Our 
musicians  performed  on  the  violin  and  the  'cello.  At 
Sterzing  they  found  among  the  inhabitants  the  com- 
petent completion  of  a  string  quartette  which  met 
frequently   at   our   inn.     A   local   glee   club   had   the 


Tirol  41 

same  rendezvous.     These  influences  first  set  the  gates 
of  Art  ajar  for  me. 

At  the  end  of  the  season  we  scattered  to  return  by 
various  routes.  Some  made  away  over  the  mountains, 
intending  to  climb  the  Gross  Glockner,  but  came 
into  a  dehige  and  presently  quarrelled.  I  hurried 
down  into  the  Pusterthal,  caught  the  train  at  Bnmeck, 
and  made  straight  for  Munich,  picking  up  Bower 
en  route.  The  fortnight  spent  in  the  galleries  there 
and  at  Dresden,  Berlin  and  Hamburg  had  a  deter- 
mining influence  upon  another  life  than  that  with 
w^hich  these  chapters  deal. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE   ENGADINE 

THE  mountain  goddess  attracts  her  votaries  in  many 
different  ways.  Some  fall  victims  to  her  charms  at 
once.  She  summons  and  they  follow.  No  sooner  do 
they  come  within  the  range  of  her  power  than  they 
submit  and  are  her  willing  captives.  In  my  case  the 
attraction  was  of  too  early  origin  and  slow  growth  to 
be  thus  overwhelming.  She  called,  indeed,  but  I 
jvas  not  free  to  follow,  did  not  even  for  many  years 
recognise  the  nature  of  the  summons.  The  longing 
was  deeply  implanted,  but  not  clearly  felt  till  the 
summer  of  187G  found  me  able  blithely  to  yield  to 
what  had  become  an  irresistible  impulse.  Why  the 
Engadine  was  chosen  as  scene  of  my  acknowledged 
courtship  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows  memory,  much 
cudgelled,  refuses  to  reveal.  But  so  it  was,  and 
Pontresina  during  five  blissful  weeks  saw  my  some- 
what blundering  efforts  to  come  to  terms  with  this 
enthralling  mistress.  I  went  forth  from  England 
fully  equipped  for  the  first  time  with  axe  and  rope — 
the  same  axe  which  was  thenceforward  to  the  end  my 
faithful  companion,  though,  truth  to  tell,  it  received 
a  new  head,  stick  and  point  at  different  times. 

Even   the    callowest    modern    climber   cannot   put 
himself  back  to  the  mental  state  of  a  mountaineering 

novice  in  the  early  'seventies.     The  dramatic  tragedy 

42 


The  Engadine  43 


of  the  Matterhom  had  struck  the  imagination  of  the 
world.  It  had  invested  high  mountains  ,with  the 
reputation  of  vengefulness.  Those  who  would  profane 
the  forbidden  solitudes  were  popularly  regarded  as 
reckless  and  almost  impious  adventurers  who  deserved 
the  punishment  they  carelessly  invited.  The  mediaeval 
terror  of  the  high  regions  as  the  home  of  Pontius 
Pilate  and  the  spirits  of  the  damned  lingered  on  in 
the  valleys  of  the  Alps,  and  even  the  best  guides, 
at  times  of  storm  and  darkness,  often  went  in  terror 
of  ghosts  and  ghouls  and  evil  spirits  in  uncanny  places. 
Fatal  accidents  kept  prejudice  alive.  If  climbers 
reaped  in  some  quarters  an  unmerited  reputation  for 
hardihood,  they  had  to  bear  counterbalancing  criticism 
from  their  sedentary  friends  and  relations. 

It  was,  therefore,  in  a  spirit  of  caution  and 
humility  that  I  entered  upon  my  first  regular 
mountaineering  season.  The  highest  Engadine  peaks 
figured  upon  my  list  of  climbs  hoped  for,  but  they 
were  not  in  the  line  of  those  first  to  be  attacked. 
The  tame  monotony  of  Piz  Corvatsch,  climbed  in 
company  with  a  third-rate  guide,  taught  me  to  seek 
a  better  leader  and  a  nobler  type  of  mountain.  The 
Piz  Morteratsch  was  suggested,  and  the  climb  duly 
and  uneventfully  accomplished  with  a  hotel  acquaint- 
ance as  companion  and  Johann  Gross  as  leader.  The 
ascent  was  full  of  interest,  the  view  splendid  and 
instructive.  The  long  snow  areie  of  Piz  Bcrnina, 
end  on,  was  its  revealing  and,  to  me,  wholly  novel 
feature.  Narrow  and  gracefully  bending  to  this  side 
and  that,  steep  rocks  on  one  face,  avalanche  slopes  of 


44  Motmtam  Me7nories 

snow  on  the  other,  it  reahsed  at  a  glance  all  and  more 
than  all  that  I  had  expected  an  arcie  to  be.  Desire 
arose  to  be  there,  to  be  on  that  thread-like  crest  with 
nothingness  on  either  hand  and  the  blue  sky  above. 

We  were  to  descend  on  the  other  side  of  our 
mountain  toward  the  Morteratsch  glacier,  the  route 
followed  a  few  years  before  by  Tyndall  when  he 
nearly  lost  his  life  in  an  avalanche.  One  of  his  most 
vivid  descriptions  of  mountain  adventure  had  been 
greedily  absorbed  by  me,  and  jvas  pictured  and 
remembered  in  every  detail.  It  galvanised  expecta- 
tion, notwithstanding  our  guide's  assurance  that  in 
existing  conditions  the  snow  would  be  in  a  safe  state 
and  we  should  pass  over  the  dangerous  slope  without 
difficulty  or  peril. 

The  descent  followed  easy  snow  slopes  for  a  con- 
siderable time.  We  traversed  them  obliquely,  with  a 
ridge  above  on  our  left  hand  and  some  cliffs  below 
on  our  right.  As  long  as  the  cliffs  lasted  they  held 
up  the  snowfield  and  made  its  slope  gentle,  but  where 
they  ceased  the  slope  fell  steeply  away,  breaking  below 
into  ice- walls.  We  had  to  make  a  descending  traverse 
across  this  steep  and  ever,  as  we  advanced,  steepening 
snow  curtain.  For  ten  minutes  or  more  progress  was 
rapid  and  the  snow  good ;  then  it  became  soft  and 
almost  slushy,  a  foot  or  more  thick,  lying  upon 
smooth,  hard,  blue  ice.  To  my  callow  inexperience 
it  seemed  that  the  whole  mass  was  in  a  condition 
of  unstable  equilibrium,  and  might  give  way  at  any 
moment,  but  we  were  well  advanced  into  the  middle 
of  the  danger  before  its  imminence  was  fully  realised. 


The  Engadine  45 

The  guide  was  obviously  and  confessedly  anxious. 
With  the  superstition  of  his  locality  he  believed  that 
the  human  voice  was  an  efficient  avalanche  starter. 
He  commanded  absolute  silence  and  the  greatest  care 
in  moving  from  step  to  step.  With  much  deliberation 
he  cut  large  steps  in  the  subjacent  ice.  The  air  was 
still ;  absolute  silence  reigned ;  the  afternoon  sun  burnt 
down  upon  us  with  scorching  fierceness.  A  strange 
agitation  invaded  all  my  being.  I  was  no  doubt 
frightened  and  knew  it,  and  determined  that  no  one 
else  should  guess ;  but  there  was  much  more  than 
terror  :  there  was  an  extraordinary  exaltation,  such  as 
Ulysses  may  have  felt  when  he  heard  the  Sirens  sing. 
The  slope  was  cracked  right  across  close  at  hand. 
That  was  where  the  mass  would  split.  I  watched 
the  crack  as  in  a  dream,  not  doubting  but  that  a 
catastrophe  would  soon  happen  and  we  should  be 
flying  downward  in  a  chaos  of  tumbling  snow. 

Our  advance  was  very  slow.  There  was  a  patch 
of  rock  ahead  where  we  should  be  in  safety  for  a 
.while,  but  it  seemed  to  keep  its  distance.  I  thought 
of  nothing  in  the  world  but  the  present  emotion. 
That  was  overwhelming,  terrible,  delightful,  inde- 
scribable. Once  the  footing  gave  way  under  my 
companion,  who  was  last  on  the  rope,  and  he  shot 
downward ;  I  was,  luckily,  able  to  stand  the  pull  on 
the  rope  and  to  hold  him  up.  That  act  altered  the 
.whole  tone  of  my  thoughts  and  gave  me  a  new 
courage.  The  strain  of  doing  nothing  and  merely 
waiting  was  broken  by  a  moment  of  activity — a  thrill 
of  joy.    We  reached  the  rock  island  at  last.     Beyond 


46  Mountain  Memories 

came  a  broad  snow  couloir  in  yet  worse  condition 
than  the  preceding  slope.  This  was  where  Tyndall 
was  carried  away.  The  last  man  hung  on  to  the  rocks 
till  the  latest  possible  moment — not  very  long.  All 
were  soon  on  the  unstable  slope  and  apparently  in  the 
hands  of  fate,  to  fall  or  cross  as  she  might  decide. 
The  time  of  peril  seemed  endless ;  indeed,  the  very 
sense  of  time  ceased.  Arrival  at  a  patch  of  rock  on 
the  other  side  was  like  coming  to  after  an  anaesthetic. 
I  awoke  to  find  myself  suddenly  in  the  world  of 
living  people,  with  a  future  to  look  forward  to  as  well 
as  a  past  to  remember.  It  was  sheer  delight  to  look 
back  upon  our  tracks.  Reaction  set  in  with  relief  of 
tension.  We  ran  down  the  rest  of  the  way,  the  mind 
purged,  as  after  some  grand  drama,  by  terror  if  not 
also  by  pity. 

The  above  description  is  as  truthful  as  I  can  make 
it  after  forty-three  years.  Modem  climbers  may  read 
it  with  a  smile.  Probably  we  much  over-estimated 
our  danger.  I  have  crossed  many  such  slopes  since 
with  a  better  understanding  of  the  condition  of  the 
snow  and  the  practical  certainty  that,  for  all  its 
apparent  looseness,  it  would  hold.  That  kind  of 
knowledge  comes  to  an  amateur  by  experience.  It 
is  almost  the  birthright  of  a  good  guide.  Gross,  I 
imagine,  knew  what  he  was  about,  but  was  not 
unwilling  to  exalt  his  functions  and  obtain  recognition 
for  bringing  us  safely  through  a  believed  peril.  It  is, 
however,  not  the  fact  but  the  emotion  that  concerns 
us  here.  As  I  look  back  the  facts  appear  doubtful ; 
but  the  emotion  was  real  and,  as  it  proved,  infinitely 


The  Engadine  47 

precious.  To  have  stood  for  an  hour  on  end  face  to 
face  with  death,  come  to  grips  with  that  situation  and 
w^on  through,  was  and  was  to  remain  an  experience 
of  incalculable  value.  It  covered  the  vague  mystery 
of  the  mountains  with  a  mantle  of  tragedy.  The  fair 
lady  had  shown  me  not  merely  her  beauty,  but  her 
latent  dread.  Henceforward  a  higher  reverence  entered 
into  my  worship  of  her.  Though  she  kill  me,  yet 
must  I  love  her.  I  came  down  from  the  mountain 
far  more  enthralled  than  ever. 

The  white  arete  of  the  Bernina  hovered  in  my 
remembrance  weirdly  attractive.  Gross  told  me  that 
no  one  had  ever  tried  to  climb  it.  The  first  serious 
attack  on  it  was,  in  fact,  made  by  Middlemore  and 
Cordier  a  few  days  later.  I  decided  to  essay  it  alone 
with  Gross.  Early  one  morning,  after  an  ended  spell 
of  bad  weather,  wt  found  ourselves  at  the  foot  of  the 
steep  little  glacier  that  falls  westward  from  the  saddle 
between  the  Bernina  and  the  Morteratsch  peaks.  We 
made  every  conceivable  blunder  in  choice  of  route  by 
striking  up  the  south  instead  of  the  north  side  of  this 
glacier,  thus  having  to  cut  steps  on  the  most  part  of 
800  feet  of  a  steepish  slope  of  snow  and  occasional 
ice  instead  of  mounting  on  or  near  some  easy  rocks. 
We  ought  to  have  known  that  the  first  thing  to  do 
was  to  reach  the  saddle  and  mount  the  arete  from  its 
end,  but  we  kept  inclining  away  to  the  right,  and  so 
came  into  serious  difficulties  among  rather  smooth 
rocks  infested  with  new  ice.  If  we  had  followed  this 
line  long  enough  we  should  have  struck  the  ridge 
some  distance  above  the  saddle.     We  had  finally  to 


48  AIo7cntain  Memories 

abandon  the  attempt  to  climb  right  up  to  the  arcic 
after  a  thousand  steps  had  been  cut.  We  reached  it 
by  a  horizontal  traverse.  For  lack  of  time  the  further 
ascent  had  to  be  abandoned.  We  descended  the  ridge 
to  the  saddle  instead  of  climbing  it  to  Bernina's  white 
and  virgin  peak. 

The  saddle  itself  commanded  glorious  views,  the 
first  I  had  ever  beheld  from  a  narrow,  high  pass.  A 
rock  wall  fell  away  steeply  on  the  east ;  scarcely  less 
steep  was  the  other  slope  up  which  we  had  ascended. 
The  Morteratsch  rocks  on  one  hand,  the  Bernina  arete 
on  the  other  framed  the  two  pictures — eastward,  the 
Morteratsch  neue,  the  Ortler,  and  beyond ;  westward, 
towering  Piz  Roseg  and  the  far-away  Bernese  Ober- 
land.  The  day  was  cloudless,  the  scene  superb.  I  had 
all  the  emotions  of  the  first  human  being  to  behold 
it.  It  was  my  very  own.  My  enduring  preference 
for  views  from  passes  over  those  from  peaks  probably 
took  root  at  this  moment.  A  panorama  is  a  bewilder- 
ing and  glorious  sight,  but  a  restless  one.  It  keeps 
the  spectator  turning  round  and  round.  From  a  pass, 
especially  a  narrow  pass,  you  have  but  two  directions 
in  which  to  look  and  the  views  are  framed.  In  this 
case  both  were  admirably  composed  and  are,  in  my 
matured  judgment,  exceptionally  beautiful. 

I  wanted  to  descend  the  side  we  had  not  come  up 
and  so  traverse  the  pass.  The  rocks,  though  steep, 
were  practicable,  and  once  down  them  the  remainder 
of  the  way  could  scarcely  present  very  serious  impedi- 
ments. Gross  was  on  the  point  of  agreeing  to  start 
when  the  lowest  shoulder  of  the  Bernina  discharged 


The  Engadine  49 

its  snow-mantle  in  a  beautiful  avalanche.  The  funnel 
shape  of  the  ground  gathered  all  the  snow  into  a  single 
shoot  and  discharged  it  down  a  couloir  close  at  hand 
in  the  rocks  we  sat  on.  We  watched  it  pursuing  its 
way  far  below  down  a  deep  groove  in  the  lower  snow- 
slope,  saw  it  disappear  over  a  fold,  then  reappear 
spreading  out  on  the  snow^-cone  at  the  bottom,  thus 
following  the  well-marked  route  of  its  countless  pre- 
decessors, and  coming  to  rest  with  them  at  the  glacier 
level.  Its  thunderous  cry  enveloped  us  as  in  a  cloud 
of  sound.  It  came  back  to  us  from  far  below  and 
re-echoed  from  the  remote  hollo w^s  of  the  mountains. 
Silence  did  not  return  for  several  minutes.  Gross 
was  now  unwilling  to  attempt  the  descent,  so  we  had 
to  go  back  by  the  side  of  our  climb,  but  following 
the  better  and  easier  route  we  ought  to  have  chosen 
in  the  morning. 

The  pass  had  rooted  itself  in  my  fancy.  It  had  to 
be  traversed.  Two  excellent  climbers,  Wainwright 
and  Warren,  caught  the  infection  and  agreed  to  come 
with  me.  Hans  Grass,  the  best  local  guide  at  that 
time,  was  to  be  our  leader,  and  Gross  our  second 
guide.  A  night  was  spent  at  the  old  Boval  Hut,  a 
fine  shelter  as  we  then  thought,  but  very  different 
from  the  luxurious  type  of  modern  cabane.  It  was 
just  a  low  stone  hut  built  against  a  great  rock.  The 
wind  whistled  through  it.  Across  one  end  was  a  hay- 
covered  shelf  for  general  bed.  A  table  was  fixed  in 
one  of  the  remaining  corners,  and  the  fire  burnt  in 
the  other.  We  left  its  protection  at  an  early  hour 
next  morning,  and  marched  in  bright  moonlight  up 


50  Moimtaiii  Memories 

the  Morteratsch  glacier  toward  the  foot  of  its  ice-fall. 
The  shivered  seracs  were  shining  like  frosted  silver. 
It  was  my  first  experience  of  climbing  with  competent 
companions  behind  a  first-rate  guide.  I  trembled  with 
delighted  expectation.  The  cold  air  seemed  laden 
with  the  very  spirit  of  romance. 

On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  glacier-filled  gully 
leading  up  to  our  pass,  we  turned  at  right  angles  and 
attacked  the  slope.  The  novelty  of  the  expedition 
had  begun.  A  movmtain  on  either  hand  shut  us  in 
between  precipitous  walls  of  rock.  A  narrow  glacier 
broken  into  ice-falls  at  two  levels  filled  our  gully  and 
ended  above  in  the  wall  of  rock  down  which  I  had 
gazed  from  the  pass.  We  turned  the  ice-falls  by  their 
rocky  banks  and  mounted  the  intervening  snow-slopes 
by  chipped  steps.  The  snow  was  lined  up  and  down 
by  numerous  parallel  grooves,  often  but  a  few  feet 
apart,  each  the  track  of  stones  that  had  fallen.  There 
,was  a  great  furrow  in  the  midst  some  ten  feet  or 
more  deep,  the  route  of  such  avalanches  as  I  had  seen 
tumbling.  We  had  to  use  this  dangerous  furrow  to 
cross  the  wide  bergschrund  near  the  foot  of  the  final 
slope,  for  only  there  was  that  huge  crevasse  bridged. 
Just  as  we  were  about  to  adventure  into  it  a  crashing 
and  rattling  burst  forth  aloft,  and  a  few  stones  shot 
by  down  the  furrow  with  great  velocity;  but  that  was 
all.  We  crossed  in  safety  and  climbed  out  of  the 
trough  on  the  other  side.  The  blue  depths  of  the 
bergschrund  .were  of  transcendent  beauty.  Icicles 
hung  from  the  upper  lip.  It  w^as  a  fairy  hollow  to 
dream  of  but  not  to  linger  over. 


The  Engadme  51 

The  final  scramble  up  the  wall  of  rocks  (some  500 
feet)  was  sheer  delight.  It  brought  us  under  the 
out  jutting  snow  cornice  which  defends  the  actual  pass. 
Through  a  narrow  gap  we  gained  the  saddle,  and 
were  joyously  breakfasting  upon  it  at  nine  o'clock. 
No  other  stones  had  fallen  during  our  ascent  save 
those  we  started.  It  was  pure  good  luck,  for  the 
name  since  given  to  the  pass  we  thus  for  the  first 
time  traversed  is  Fuorcla  Prievlusa,  or  the 
"dangerous."  Modern  climbers  and  guides  describe 
it  as  stone-swept.  I  am  told  that  the  description  is 
apt,  and  that  stones  often  pour  down  the  gully  and 
sweep  it  from  side  to  side.  The  numerous  grooves 
in  the  snow-slopes  are  thus  accounted  for.  Of  all  this 
we  saw  nothing. 

No  ascent  has  ever  given  me  more  unalloyed 
pleasure.  Everything  ,was  new.  Beauty  reigned  in 
all  directions.  Never  had  I  been  so  happy.  The 
Queen  of  the  Snows  smiled  and  displayed  all  her 
grace.  She  lapped  us  in  air  of  clearest  crystal.  She 
spread  abroad  her  most  lovely  garments.  Jewels 
sparkled  upon  her.  She  seemed  to  be  surrendering 
her  very  heart,  and  mine  was  already  hers.  There  was 
plenty  of  time  to  spare.  When  the  others  started 
down  I  still  lingered  with  Gross.  It  was  noon  before 
I  could  tear  myself  away,  carrying  with  me  precious 
memories  which  have  not  faded. 

That  same  evening  I  slept  out  for  Piz  Palii,  and 
traversed  its  long  crest  next  day,  reaching  Pontresina 
just  in  time  to  hurry  off  to  yet  another  gUe  and  sleep 
out    for   the    third    night    in    succession   in    order    to 


52  Mountain  Memories 

capture  the  Piz  Roseg  while  the  fine  weather  held. 
How  could  one  feel  fatigue  amid  such  experiences? 
The  third  climb  was  the  longest  and  most  sensational. 
Palii's  snow-crest,  festooned  from  peak  to  peak,  is  in 
places  narrow,  but  is  far  surpassed  in  dramatic  quality 
by  the  arcie  of  Piz  Roseg.  Like  a  giant  spear  held 
aloft  the  summit  burst  with  startling  defiance  upon 
our  vision  at  the  moment  of  arrival  upon  the  lower 
peak,  after  seven  hours'  ascent  from  the  hut.  We 
were  forewarned  and  expectant,  but  the  thing  beheld 
surpassed  expectation.  We  had  climbed  in  a  gale  of 
wind  and  with  little  hope  of  final  success.  The  gale 
added  to  the  effect.  Slenderer  and  longer  aretes  than 
that  >vhich  connects  the  two  summits  exist,  but  this 
is  slender  and  long  enough.  The  slopes  on  either 
hand  plunge  to  abysses  that  seem  immeasurable.  That 
on  the  right  is  a  cliff  of  rock ;  the  other  is  a  sheer 
curtain  of  ice,  smooth  and  relentless.  It  leads  down 
to  the  crest  of  the  saddle,  known  as  Giissfeldt's,  from 
which  a  famous  ice-wall  falls  to  the  glacier-floor. 
The  precipices  of  Bernina  impend  beyond  a  narrow 
glacier-arm.  In  the  midst  of  these  majestic  surround- 
ings the  knife-edged  arete  rises  like  the  flight  of  an 
arrow  to  the  highest  peak.  Adding  to  its  beauty  at 
that  moment,  a  delicately  transparent  veil  of  countless 
tiny  ice-particles  carried  by  the  wind  waved  upon  the 
crest.  They  swept  hissing  up  the  slope  on  one  side, 
curled  gracefully  over  the  top,  and  fell  on  the  other. 
Ice-crystals  glittered  everywhere  in  the  bright  sun- 
shine. The  cold  was  bitter.  It  seemed  as  though 
any  creature  that  stood  upon  that  narrow  ridge  must 


The  Engadme  53 


be  blown  away.  Nevertheless  we  advanced  toward  it. 
As  we  approached  the  gale  dropped ;  the  sun  warmed 
us,  and  we  could  accompUsh  the  tight-rope  perform- 
ance quickly.  In  thirty-five  minutes  we  had  chopped 
off  the  sharp  snow  summit  and  stood  one  by  one  in 
its  place.  Just  down  on  the  west  side  the  rocks 
formed  natural  arm-chairs,  wdth  nothing  between  them 
and  remote  Mont  Blanc;  we  rested  there  for  two 
glorious  hours  before  turning  to  descend.  ., 

A  spell  of  enforced  idleness  followed  these  three 
exciting  days.  When  the  weather  settled  I  was  able 
to  climb  Piz  Bernina.  The  route  followed  led  me  for 
the  first  time  through  really  superb  ice-scenery.  We 
had  to  turn  the  great  ice-fall  of  the  Morteratsch 
glacier  by  a  traverse  across  a  slope  of  ice  under  over- 
hanging semes  and  above  a  vertical  cliff.  The  piled 
debris  of  fallen  seraes  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  showed 
the  dangers  of  the  way ;  not  that  such  evidence  was 
necessary,  for  the  huge  ice-towers  in  many  places 
overhung,  and  it  was  evident  that  some  of  them  .were 
doomed  to  fall.  So  early  in  the  niorning,  frost  doubt- 
less held  them  fast,  but  it  would  be  otherwise  in  the 
afternoon,  when  we  must  return  by  the  same  route. 

On  the  main  body  of  the  mountain  we  wrought  a 
way  among  the  yawning  crevasses  of  a  much-tortured 
neve.  The  magic  bergschrund  I  had  looked  into  on 
the  way  up  our  pass  was  trifling  in  comparison  with 
these  immense  caverns.  The  surface  through  which 
they  opened  shone  blindingly  white  under  the  high 
sun.  Their  depths  were  indigo-blue.  The  walls 
shimmered  wath  every  intervening  tint.     They  were 


54  Motmtam  Memories 

not  mere  slab-sided  ditches,  but  variegated  with  every 
conceivable  intricacy  of  form ;  here  opening  into 
grottoes,  there  piled  with  fallen  masses  of  banded 
ice;  here  bulging,  there  overhanging,  and  everywhere 
draped  ^vith  fringes  of  icicles  slender  as  a  twig  or 
massive  as  the  trunks  of  ancient  trees.  Fancy  cannot 
picture  a  more  romantic  scene  than  these  neve 
crevasses  displayed.  Moreover  they  were  not  parallel 
gashes  in  an  even  slope,  but  steps  in  a  giant  staircase, 
ruinous  as  vast.  High  walls  of  ice  stood  up,  and 
longitudinal  sections  cut  the  great  steps  into  cubes 
which  sloped  this  way  and  that.  Towers  and  spires 
had  cracked  oft  from  the  larger  masses,  and  leaned  to 
one  side  or  the  other.  We  had  to  cut  steps  and  swarm 
up  such  a  pinnacle  as  the  only  way  to  attain  an  upper 
level  against  which  it  rested.  Usually  we  found  bridges 
of  ice,  massive  or  frail,  but  always  of  unexpected  form 
and  entrancing  architecture.  Some  two  hours  may 
have  been  spent  in  this  exotic  fairyland  before  the 
main  arete  was  reached.  It  is  of  rock,  with  one  short 
wall  of  snow,  excessively  narrow — so  narrow,  in  fact, 
that  you  cannot  traverse  on  either  side,  but  must  walk 
balanced  on  its  very  crest  in  steps  carefully  fashioned, 
a  rare  experience. 

If  we  lingered  long  on  the  cloudless  summit  and 
were  slow  in  the  descent,  it  was  because  that  return 
traverse  under  the  impending  seracs  threatened  in  the 
background  of  our  minds.  Assuredly  it  dyed  all  the 
emotions  of  the  day  for  me,  not  always  unpleasantly, 
not  to  the  exclusion  but  rather  to  the  heightening  of 
merriment,  yet  infusing  into  each  vision  of  wonder 


The  Engadine  55 

or  beauty  a  certain  solemnity,  as  of  a  sight  beheld  not 
for  the  first  time  only,  but  it  might  be  for  the  last. 
It  created  a  mood  which  was  projected  on  to  the 
scenery.     When  Matthew  Arnold  wrote  : 

The  solemn  peaks  but  to  the  stars  are  known, 
But  to  the  stars  and  the  pale  moonlight's  beams ; 

Alone  the  sun  uprises  and  alone 
Spring  the  great  streams. 

he  was  expressing  a  subjective  mood  by  a  series  of 
statements,  each  separately  untrue.  The  solemn  peaks 
are  known  to  the  sun  and  the  clouds  and  so  forth  as 
much  as  to  stars  and  moonlight ;  but  the  mood  of  a 
man  embraces  and  refashions  all  he  beholds,  and  thus 
comes  back  to  him  from  Nature.  He  sees  his  own 
heart  in  the  landscape  and,  truthfully  expressing  his 
emotion,  describes  it  in  terms  of  the  external  w^orld. 
Not  only  will  the  eye  be  blind  to  such  visions  as  it  has 
not  previously  acquired  power  to  see,  but  the  heart 
will  not  throb  save  to  emotions  already  potential  within 
itself.  Even  the  sight  of  danger  will  not  appal  one 
who  has  not  the  knowledge  to  recognise  it,  while  a 
safe  situation  will  affright  when  it  is  believed  to  be 
perilous.  Thus  also  the  eye  will  only  weep  in  the 
presence  of  a  glory  which  the  imagination  has  flung 
over  the  bare  prose  of  Nature.  To  the  believer  alone 
will  God  be  manifest  in  the  material  world. 

When  we  reached  the  dangerous  traverse  the  after- 
noon was  well  advanced  and  the  sun  shining  hotly 
upon  the  seracs.  If  in  dim  light  and  from  below 
they  had  seemed  threatening,  now  in  the  blaze  of  day 


56  Motmtain  Memories 

and  beheld  from  above  they  appeared  far  more  un- 
stable. Indeed,  in  the  case  of  one  or  two,  their  up- 
standing at  all  seemed  miraculous.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  hesitation.  We  went  straight  for 
the  passage,  the  leader  trimming  with  a  chip,  or  at 
most  two,  each  of  our  rounded  steps  of  the  morning. 
Our  hearts  were  in  our  throats ;  mine  was  thumping. 
When  about  half-w^ay  over  we  heard  a  little  crackling 
and  crashing  above,  and  a  few  lumps  of  ice  came 
down,  broke  into  fragments  on  the  slope,  and  fell 
about  us.  The  overthrow  of  a  glacial  tower  is  often 
preceded  by  such  small  movements,  as  in  later  years 
along  the  sea-fronts  of  Arctic  glaciers  I  had  many 
opportunities  of  observing.  The  effect  upon  us  was 
like  the  sting  of  a  whip.  We  took  all  chances  with 
the  old  steps  and  hurried  on  with  utmost  speed.  Nor 
did  we  linger  on  the  other  side,  for  the  avalanche 
debris  below  had  still  to  be  crossed,  and  were  they  not 
the  result  of  just  such  crashes  as  the  one  we  were 
momentarily  expecting?  The  best  we  could  do  was 
to  keep  as  far  round  as  possible.  The  whole  danger 
was  safely  passed  when  w^e  had  turned  the  base  of  a 
rock  ridge  and  our  enemy  was  out  of  sight.  A  few 
minutes  later  the  thunder  of  an  ice-avalanche  roared 
behind  the  corner  in  the  direction  and  evident  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  seracs  we  had  so  recently  escaped. 

After  a  few  more  climbs  and  some  valley  wander- 
ing the  season  ended  for  me,  and  wath  it  the  years 
of  apprenticeship.  The  greatly  prized  honour  of  elec- 
tion to  the  Alpine  Club  was  mine  before  the  follow- 
ing summer.     It  arrived  a  month  or  so  too  late  to 


The  Engadine  57 

be  a  coming-of-age  present.  In  many  respects  the 
season  had  been  a  fortunate  one.  It  had  offered 
experiences  of  varied  character  :  steep  rocks,  narrow 
snow  aretes,  ice-slopes,  avalanche  and  snow-slopes, 
couloirs,  seracs,  and  other  minor  difficulties  to 
negotiate.  It  had  displayed  examples  of  every  kind 
of  mountain  and  glacier  feature.  What  had  been  but 
names,  things  read  about  before,  had  become  realities  : 
hergschrunds,  all  sorts  of  crevasses,  open  or  hidden, 
ice-falls,  moulins,  glacier-tables,  moraines.  I  had  even 
been  let  down  by  the  rope  and  had  burrowed  under 
a  glacier  between  it  and  its  rock-bed.  Technically  I 
had  begun  to  learn  how  to  use  axe  and  rope.  I  had 
cut  quantities  of  steps,  necessary  and  unnecessary, 
and  had  wandered  on  glaciers,  from  snout  to  snow- 
field,  alone  or  behind  expert  leaders.  Confidence  had 
replaced  a  certain  shyness  of  the  unknown.  The 
world  of  ice  and  snow  was  no  longer  an  utter  mystery. 
It  retained  its  aloofness,  but  had  ceased  to  be  altogether 
foreign. 

Morally  the  gifts  of  that  season  were  priceless. 
They  had  opened  a  new  outlook  upon  life.  The  youth 
that  returned  was  other  than  he  that  went  forth.  He 
had  come  face  to  face  with  Nature  in  many  wonderful 
moods.  If  she  Jiad  often  smiled,  she  had  likewise 
frowned.  She  had  been  gracious  and  alluring,  but 
also  austere,  threatening,  terrible,  even  on  occasion 
hostile.  The  Babylonian  conception  of  her  as  endowed 
with  the  face  of  a  woman,  the  limbs  of  a  lion  and  the 
claws  of  an  eagle  was  felt  to  be  not  ungrounded. 
"  On  ne  hadine  pas  avec  " — la  montagne  summed  up 


^i 


58  Mo2tntaiii  Memories 

perhaps  the  lessons  of  the  year.  If,  like  a  female 
spider,  she  might  accept  the  advances  of  a  lover,  she 
was  just  as  likely  to  turn  and  destroy  him.  The  altar 
of  the  mountain-temple  had  reeked  and  .would  reek 
again  with  human  sacrifice,  and  no  worshipper  could 
be  sure  that  he  would  not  be  the  chosen  victim.  Yet 
the  attraction  of  the  mountain  goddess  was  irresistible. 
Reverence  grew  with  knowledge — reverence,  which  is 
"  the  chief  joy  and  pride  of  hfe."  Who  that  has  once 
felt  it  can  ever  forget  the  majesty  of  the  high  white 
world,  overwhelming  in  glory  as  in  gloom?  The 
mountaineer  should  be  like  the  fabled  Indian  lady 
' '  who  braves  the  terrors  of  the  black  night  and  drench- 
ing storm,  her  trackless  path  lit  only  by  flashes  of 
hghtning  as  she  goes  to  visit  her  lover,  yet  knows  no 
fear  because  Love  is  at  her  side." 

What  would  a  man  know  about  mountains  who 
knew  them  onlj^  in  days  of  cloudless  peace?  He  that 
would  "  enter  into  the  treasures  of  the  snow  "  must 
wander  in  high  places  in  Nature's  many  moods. 
When  the  lightning  is  mated  with  the  clouds,  and 
when  rain  and  snow-fall  link  earth  and  sky  with  silver 
cords,  he  must  be  a  joyful  onlooker  and  participant 
in  the  drama,  even  if  he  rejoice  with  trembling.  To 
climb  along  a  narrow  beclouded  ridge,  when  the  gale 
sweeps  across  it  and  grasps  at  its  crest,  is  a  far  more 
thrilling  experience  than  to  tread  the  slenderest  arete 
in  still  air  and  clear  sunshine.  A  tower  of  ice, 
whencesoever  beheld,  will  be  a  brilliant  thing,  but  the 
traveller  who  passes  beneath  one  tottering  to  its  fall 
will   carry    away   a    more    vivid   remembrance    of   its 


The  Engadine  59 

grandeur.  Such  sights  and  memories  are  unpurchas- 
able  treasures  which  have  to  be  ,won.  No  written 
record  can  transfer  them,  nor  are  they  easily  to  be 
erased  by  the  passage  of  time.  When  the  cHmbing 
season  of  1876  ended  it  left  me  thus  gloriously 
enriched. 


\ 


CHAPTER    VI 

ZERMATT   IN    1877 

IT  is  a  law  of  human  nature  that  the  passion  and 
enthusiasm,  the  painful  longings  and  delirious 
delights  which  sweep  through  all  our  being  .when  for 
the  first  time  we  penetrate  into  some  new  field  of 
emotion  do  not  maintain  themselves  permanently.  Joys 
tend  to  become  less  overwhelming,  desire  less  paralys- 
ing. We  are  not  therefore  less  devoted,  less  admiring, 
less  enthralled,  but  in  fact  the  contrary.  Devotion  has 
become  part  of  our  very  structure.  We  are  reborn. 
The  thing  that  was  approached  from  without  and 
desired  has  been  absorbed ;  we  have  become  part  of 
it,  as  it  of  us.  We  are  identified  with  the  god.  Thus 
the  glory  and  high  emotion  of  my  Engadine  season 
passed.  It  left  me  wedded  to  the  mountains,  vowed 
to  be  their  faithful  servant  and  to  serve  them  with 
perfect  love,  but  no  longer  stunned  by  a  sense  of  their 
unapproachable  glory. 

There  was,  I  imagine,  little  question  but  that  the 
next  summer  should  be  spent  at  Zermatt.  The 
modesty  which  had  kept  me  away  from  that  centre 
of  illustrious  peaks,  reputed  to  be  supremely  difficult 
and  even  dangerous,  according  to  the  standard  of  those 
days,  was  replaced  by  a  reasonable  and  tried  con- 
fidence. Accompanied,  therefore,  by  my  old  school- 
fellow, George  Scriven,  the  best  climbing  companion 

60 


Zermatt  in  1877  61 

man  ever  had,  I  made  my  way  to  Zermatt  for  the 
season  of  1877,  and  was  destined  there  to  spend  five 
out  of  the  six  following  summers.  The  first  year  was, 
of  course,  the  most  thrilling.  Till  one  had  climbed 
some  at  least  of  the  great  peaks  their  prestige,  espe- 
cially that  of  the  Cervin,  remained  imposing.  Their 
glorious  forms  seemed  to  incorporate  defiance.  If  the 
Cervin  had  impressed  me  as  a  boy,  it  became  yet  more 
impressive  with  added  years  and  experience.  To  this 
day  it  affects  me  as  does  no  other  mountain.  None 
is  of  nobler  architecture.  None  combines  such  grace 
of  outline  with  such  a  sense  of  uplift.  Ruskin,  with 
the  insight  of  genius,  compared  it  to  a  rearing  horse 
with  head  thrown  back.  Its  deceptive  aspect  of  pre- 
cipitousness  does  not  change  even  to  the  instructed 
eye.  Moreover,  it  is  planted  in  a  perfect  position  for 
visibility  as  from  chosen  platforms.  It  has  not  to  be 
sought  out.  It  stands  forward  and  challenges.  For 
long  weeks  we  hesitated  to  accept  that  challenge,  and 
contented  ourselves  with  lesser  engagements.  ^ 

The  ascent  of  Monte  Rosa  was  our  first  serious 
enterprise.  As  I  look  back  it  appears  significant  that 
we  avoided  the  ordinary  line  of  ascent.  We  decided 
to  climb  it  "by  the  rocks,"  and  to  that  end  made 
our  way  up  the  Grenz  branch  of  the  Corner  Glacier. 
The  route  brought  us  in  view  of  the  Zumstein  Spitze 
and  of  the  saddle  between  it  and  the  highest  point. 
On  being  informed,  in  response  to  inquiries,  that  the 
mountain  had  never  been  climbed  from  that  saddle, 
we  decided  to  make  the  attempt,  and  in  due  course 
arrived  at  the  summit.     The  climb  was  not  difficult, 


62  Mo7intain  Memories 

and  appears  to  have  been  accomplished  in  quick  time. 
When,  eight  years  later,  Coolidge  and  I  made  the 
ascent  of  the  Zumstein  Spitze  from  the  same  saddle, 
we  took  as  long  to  reach  that  starting  point  as  had 
sufficed  for  the  whole  ascent  of  the  higher  peak.  My 
own  attitude  of  mind  is  clearly  enough  implied  by 
the  little  account  I  wrote  of  our  "  New  expedition." 
It  had  seemed  a  perilous  and  difficult  accomplishment 
— rocks  loose  and  dangerous,  arete  narrow,  and  so 
forth;  in  fact,  they  were  easy  and  safe.  It  was  the 
great  height  of  the  mountain,  the  impressive  surround- 
ings, the  deep  plunge  of  the  cliff  on  the  Italian  side, 
the  novelty  of  the  route — these  elements  distorted  my 
vision  and  disturbed  my  reason.  We  came  back  to 
Zermatt  inwardly  swelling  with  pride,  nor  did  that 
pride  have  a  serious  fall  till  the  following  winter,  when 
we  discovered  that  the  expedition  was  not  new,  and 
that  George  Prothero,  who  first  made  it  in  1874,  had 
not  thought  it  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  put  on 
record. 

Nowadays  such  doubts  would  scarcely  be  possible. 
The  guides  at  Zermatt  know  all  that  has  been  done 
among  their  mountains,  while  easily  accessible  books 
of  reference  correct  any  misstatements  they  may  make. 
It  was  a  surprise  to  me  to  find  how  little  in  1877  was 
currently  known.  Even  the  names  of  many  of  the 
mountains  were  doubtful,  and  still  more  uncertain 
those  of  passes.  The  Zermatt  of  the  'seventies  was  in 
every  way  very  different  from  what  it  afterward  be- 
came. It  was  quite  a  small  place.  There  were  only 
two  hotels  that  counted,  the  Mont  Cervin  for  tourists 


Zermatt  m   1877  63 

and  the  Monte  Rosa  for  climbers.  Year  after  year 
the  same  group  assembled.  They  were  more  like  a 
family  than  a  club.  A  common  interest  united  them. 
Most  were  English  of  one  class ;  the  two  Sellers  were 
their  father  and  their  mother.  In  fine  weather  we 
climbed  and  in  bad  weather  we  played  billiards  on 
an  unlevel  table  and  talked  without  end.  The  traditions 
of  what  had  been  climbed  resided  in  the  members  of 
this  group  like  the  Common  Law  in  the  breast  of  the 
judges.  Year  by  year  old  members  dropped  off  and 
were  replaced  by  new ;  thus  the  group  was  continuous 
with  the  early  pioneers.  It  remembered  Hudson, 
Whymper,  Tyndall  and  the  rest  as  belonging  to  them- 
selves. The  account  of  Zermatt  and  its  Wall,  as  given 
in  "  Scrambles  in  the  Alps,"  remained  still  true.  The 
atmosphere  of  "  Scrambles  "  lingered  on;  we  regarded 
the  high  peaks  \vith  a  respect  now  long  banished.  If 
one  wanted  to  know  whether  a  climb  had  been  accom- 
plished, one  depended  upon  information  obtainable  in 
the  Monte  Rosa  smoking-room.  That  was  the  ultimate 
authority,  and  it  was  far  from  infallible.  Contem- 
porary guide-books  were  not  constructed  for  climbers, 
but  for  so-called  "  pedestrians  " — walking-tour  people. 
They  described  certain  ascents  which  the  pedestrian 
might  perhaps  attempt,  and  others  he  might  like  to 
read  about,  but  variations  of  routes  and  the  wrong 
ways  up  peaks  did  not  trouble  the  compilers.  It  was 
a  rude  shock  to  discover  that  my  fine  new  route  up 
Monte  Rosa,  accepted  as  such  by  the  Zermatt  crowd, 
had  in  fact  been  previously  accomplished ;  nor  was  this 
the  only  instance  of  a  lack  of  infallibility  in  my  new 


64  Moitntain  Memories 

and  highly  revered  companions.  There  proved  by 
degrees  to  be  so  many  things  none  of  them  knew. 
As  long  as  inquiries  were  confined  to  the  Cervin, 
Dent  Blanche,  Weisshorn,  Dom  and  the  like  first- 
rate  peaks  the  facts  about  them  were  generally  known, 
but  when  one  asked  about  the  Nadelhorn,  or  the 
Arbenjoch,  or  about  routes  and  movmtains  on  the 
Italian  side  of  the  frontier,  one  soon  reached  the  limit 
of  obtainable  information. 

From  the  beginning  I  was  an  inquisitive  climber. 
It  was  not  merely  the  dozen  big  mountains  around 
that  were  interesting ;  the  whole  district  demanded  to 
be  understood.  What  were  the  other  sides  of  peaks 
like?  Whither  did  passes  lead?  Into  what  valleys? 
To  what  villages?  IIow  were  glaciers  related  to  one 
another,  and  valleys  to  ranges  beyond?  Numberless 
such  questions  called  for  answer,  not  merely  from  the 
map,  but  visually.  After  a  few  more  climbs  of  minor 
importance — the  Rimpfischhorn  and  such  like — we  set 
forth  to  see  for  ourselves  some  outlying  regions  beyond 
the  encircling  ranges.  Thus  we  visited  the  valleys  of 
Zinal,  Arolla,  ValpeUine  and  Tournanche,  and  crossed 
a  number  of  easy  snow  passes,  presenting  no  climbing 
dilTicultics  and  in\'olving  much  laborious  wading  over 
deep  snowfields,  but  commanding  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  snow-scenery  in  the  Alps.  Few  typically 
modern  climbers  could  nowadays  be  hired  to  make 
this  tour.  I  found  it  of  entrancing  interest,  and  can 
still  look  back  upon  the  days  thus  spent  as  golden, 
not  for  what  they  accomplished  but  for  what  they 
revealed.     We  saw  the  tremendous  north-west  face 


Zermatt  m  1877  65 

of  the  Cervin,  which  for  dignity  can  hold  its  own  in 
any  mountain  company.  We  passed  close  under  the 
Dent  Blanche  and  made  all  sorts  of  new  acquaintances, 
but  most  of  all  we  obtained  a  new  vision  of  the  wide 
and  gracefully  undulating  delicacy  of  the  high  snow- 
fields.  I  date  my  love  of  them  from  this  time.  Nothing 
in  Nature  is  more  pure,  more  tenderly  modelled,  more 
dainty  than  these  high  neves.  To  cross  them  in  hot 
midday  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh,  but  only  then  is 
their  full  glory  displayed.  At  early  morning  or  by 
moonlight  they  also  beautifully  reveal  themselves,  but 
it  is  under  the  full  blaze  of  the  high  sun  that  they 
attain  the  culmination  of  their  splendour. 

It  was  only  after  some  weeks  of  such  technically 
insignificant  expeditions  that,  greatly  daring,  we  ven- 
tured to  tackle  one  of  the  peaks  of  repute.  The 
instructed  reader  will  smile  when  I  name  it — the  Zinal 
Rothhorn,  from  the  Zermatt  side.  Starting  from  the 
hotel  shortly  after  midnight,  we  attained  the  summit 
with  unexpected  ease,  and  were  back  in  the  valley 
again  in  time  for  lunch.  We  had  enjoyed  every  yard 
of  the  way,  for  the  Rothhorn  is  an  enjoyable  moun- 
tain. It  is  full  of  variety.  There  are  easy  rocks,  a 
snow-slope,  a  short  arete,  a  traverse,  a  short  couloir, 
and  then  the  final  rocks,  which  were  considered  diffi- 
cult. A  rather  dramatic  step  round  a  projecting 
corner,  with  a  truly  vertical  precipice  seen  between 
one's  legs  at  the  stride,  led  to  the  summit — a  com- 
fortable place  where  you  can  sit  at  your  ease  and  behold 
countless  peaks  and  ranges  stretching  away  on  every 
side. 


66  Mo2tntain  Memories 


So  easy  a  victorj^  encouraged  us  to  essay  the  Cervin 
itself,  though  not  without  some  searchings  of  heart. 
We  used  to  call  it  the  Matterhorn  then  and  till  the 
other  day,  but  now  German  names  rather  stick  in  our 
mouths,  and  the  more  ancient  designation,  the  Cervin 
(a  corruption  of  Mons  Silvius,  I  believe),  has  been 
adopted  by  English  climbers,  as  always  by  our  French 
and  Italian  colleagues.  This  time  also  it  did  not  occur 
to  us  to  sleep  out.  We  set  forth  from  Zermatt  by 
lantern  light  about  midnight,  and  I  can  still  remember 
the  emotion  with  which  I  trod  the  silent,  cobble-paved 
street,  and  how  the  lantern  flashed  on  the  brown 
chalets  and  our  hobnailed  boots  clattered  on  the  stones. 
It  was  a  perfectly  fine  night.  We  walked  in  silence, 
conscious  of  the  stars  and  of  the  rising,  uneven  mule- 
path,  thrillingly  conscious  also  of  that  mountain-giant 
vaguely  visible  against  the  sky  by  the  stars  it  blotted 
out. 

The  approach  to  some  famous  thing,  long  desired, 
is  always  subjectively  impressive.  The  awaited  first 
vision  of  the  Polar  ice-pack,  of  a  tropical  forest,  the 
PjTamids,  the  Acropolis,  the  Roman  Forum,  the  Taj, 
excites  the  mind  of  the  traveller  and  provides  an 
emotion  that  can  never  be  repeated.  In  the  case  of 
the  Cervin  there  w^as  superadded  to  this  expectancy 
a  background  of  unrealised  dread.  The  vague  reminis- 
cence of  the  tragedy  over  the  very  site  of  which  we 
were  to  pass  hung  upon  the  imagination,  and  was 
mingled  with  a  dim  sense  of  formless  danger  caught 
by  mere  infection  from  popular  repute.  Solid  common 
sense  assured  us  that  we  were  perfectly  competent  to 


Zermatt  in  1877  67 


carry  through  .what  we  were  undertaking,  but  it  is 
one  of  the  delights  of  the  dark  hours  and  a  semi- 
somnolent  condition  that  common  sense  tends  to  be 
dethroned  and  all  kinds  of  superstitions,  expectations 
and  unformulated  forebodings  reign  in  its  stead.  Day- 
light scatters  them,  but  in  the  hours  of  night  they 
thrive.  The  brilliant  opal  of  a  chmber's  day,  with  all 
its  radiant,  many-coloured  joys,  needs  the  dark  matrix 
of  mysterious  night  on  which  to  form. 

With  earliest  dawn  we  were  at  the  foot  of  the  great 
pyramid  and  were  passing  the  farthest  point  of  my 
boyish  wanderings.  Sight  of  Whymper's  tent-plat- 
form, still  as  fresh  and  plainly  marked  as  if  only  last 
week  abandoned,  made  vivid  the  recollection  of  the 
often-discussed  tragedy.  I  was  expecting  to  strike  at 
once  up  the  long  north-east  ridge,  but  obviously  that 
was  not  the  way.  We  took  to  snow  instead,  to  the 
very  top  edge  of  the  snow-slope  that  leans  against  the 
east  face,  and  followed  along  the  crest  of  that  with 
our  right  hands  often  touching  the  lowest  rocks.  After 
traversing  what  seemed  far  across  the  foot  of  the  rocks 
we  turned  sharply  to  the  right  and  mounted  straight 
up  a  gully.  Hopeful  of  remembering  for  record  an 
exact  description  of  the  details  of  the  route,  I  kept 
saying  to  myself,  "  Gully,  rib,  staircase,  rib,  traverse, 
gully,"  and  so  forth,  but  changes  followed  one  another 
too  rapidly,  and  I  soon  lost  track  of  details.  Nothing 
near  at  hand  in  the  least  recalled  the  aspect  of  this 
rock-face  as  seen  from  a  distance  until  we  came  to 
the  end  of  the  long  oblique  strip  of  snow  which  so 
conspicuously  divides  the  rocks  like  the  bend  on  a 


68  Mmmtain  Memories 

shield.  The  large  unity  of  the  slope,  when  beheld  as 
a  whole,  is  lost  from  near  at  hand  in  a  multitude  of 
details.  One  mounts  amid  a  chaos  of  rocks  large  and 
small,  balanced  on  ledges  or  wedged  in  gullies,  the 
solid  mass  of  the  mountain  being  oftener  thus  disfigured 
than  nakedly  displayed.  The  climb  was  surprisingly 
easy.  Only  here  and  there  came  passages  that  required 
care ;  even  the  steepest  pitches  offered  little  impedi- 
ment to  swift  advance.  I  think  the  hardest  scramble 
was  up  a  short  cliff  falling  from  the  platform  of  the 
old  upper  hut. 

That  was  then  the  only  hut  on  the  Zermatt  side, 
a  tiny  refuge.  We  arrived  there  before  the  party 
sleeping  out  had  emerged  to  begin  their  day's  climb, 
and  thus  fortunately  got  ahead  of  them  and  were  able 
to  make  our  own  pace  instead  of  following  Itheirs. 
More  scrambling  of  like  character  took  us  to  the  tri- 
angular ice-slope  that  falls  fron:i  the  sharply  bending 
shoulder  of  the  mountain.  It  was  covered  with  soft 
snow  and  delayed  us  for  a  few  minutes.  We  made 
a  short  halt  on  the  little  arete  that  crests  it,  and  then 
followed  along  that  to  its  abutment  against  the  final 
peak.  From  this  point  the  route  in  those  days  struck 
almost  horizontally  away  over  the  north  face  and 
entirely  quitted  the  east  side,  which  had  thus  far  been 
followed.  Now  I  believe  it  adheres  to  the  ridge  be- 
tween the  two,  which  has  been  made  easy  by  blasted 
steps  and  safe  by  a  long  series  of  strong,  well  fixed 
ropes.  The  rocks  of  the  north  face  proved  to  be  firm 
and  rather  smooth.  There  was  always  handhold  and 
foothold,  but  seldom  a  ledge  you  could  stand  on.     It 


Zermatt  in  \?>tj  69 

was  my  first  experience  of  such  rocks,  and  I  was  duly 
impressed.  They  were  not  really  very  steep,  but  gave 
the  impression  of  steepness,  and  it  was  easy  to  see 
that  if  an  unroped  chmber  were  to  slip  on  them  he 
would  inevitably  slide  to  destruction.  The  slope  de- 
scended for  some  distance  unchanged,  then  bent 
sharply  over  and  disappeared  into  space.  To  look  up 
the  head  had  to  be  bent  far  back.  At  the  top  of  the 
foreshortened  incline  the  summit  appeared  deceptively 
near  at  hand. 

After  traversing  a  long  stone's  throw  we  turned 
straight  up  toward  the  top,  following  a  slight  depres- 
sion, not  sufficiently  marked  to  be  called  a  gully.  The 
way  was  presently  barred  by  a  little  cliff  which  is  visible 
in  every  photograph  as  a  black  band  crossing  the  north 
face  from  side  to  side.  It  was  upon  this  steep  place 
that  the  accident  happened,  though  not  exactly  where 
we  stood.  The  rope  that  Whymper  fixed  to  steady 
the  descent  of  himself  and  his  unnerved  guides,  when 
they  continued  the  descent  after  the  loss  of  their  four 
companions,  still  dangled  over  the  rocks  a  short  distance 
away  to  the  right.  One  could  not  but  glance  down, 
involuntarily  picturing  the  unfortunate  victims  of  the 
accident  as  they  slid  from  slope  to  slope  and  disappeared 
over  the  very  edge  now  full  in  view.  For  me  it  was 
a  point  of  honour  to  negotiate  this  difficult  spot  without 
help  from  guide  or  chain — the  pedaniry  of  inexperi- 
ence. There  were  no  further  rememberable  incidents. 
The  slope  eased  off ;  snow  took  the  place  of  rock.  We 
quickly  reached  the  final  double-summited  ridge  and  sat 
down  on  the  peak  surrounded  by  a  cloudless  panorama. 


70  Moimtain  Memories 


A  few  steps  below  the  summit  one  of  us  loosened 
a  stone,  which  crashed  down  along  the  route  of  our 
ascent,  smashing  to  pieces  at  every  bound.  As  this 
stone-fall  was  happening  the  party  following  us  came 
into  view  near  the  shoulder  and  full  in  the  track  of 
the  stones,  which  rattled  about  them  in  dangerous 
proximity.  It  was  their  duty  to  have  waited  till  we 
were  on  the  top,  as  no  one  could  prevent  loosening  a 
stone  now  and  then,  even  with  greatest  care.  Nor 
had  we  caused  them  delay,  for  we  had  climbed  from 
the  shoulder  to  the  top  in  half  an  hour,  and  they  were 
so  far  behind  that  a  halt  of  five  minutes  would  have 
kept  them  in  perfect  safety.  We  awaited  for  two 
whole  hours  their  arrival  on  the  top.  It  was  none  too 
long.  I  have  always  loved  long  halts  upon  peaks  and 
regarded  with  wonder  the  men  who,  having  taken  in- 
finite pains  to  reach  a  certain  point,  quit  it  again  almost 
in  the  moment  of  arrival. 

The  guides  of  the  other  party  arrived  on  the  summit 
weary,  out  of  temper  with  their  employers,  and  angry 
with  our  guides.  They  said  we  had  detached  the  stone 
on  purpose  to  kill  them !  When  they  were  safely 
seated  we  started  down  for  what  proved  to  be  a  breath- 
less race.  No  sooner  had  we  descended  a  little  distance 
than  they  began  bombarding  us  with  stones,  and  so 
continued  as  long  as  we  were  in  the  line  of  fire.  Never 
did  I  pass  through  a  nastier  time  on  a  mountain  than 
during  this  descent,  with  the  stones  crashing  and 
rattling  about  us  with  little  intermission.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  descent  was  uneventful  but  very 
j\'earisome.      From    shoulder   down    to    glacier    it    is 


Zennatt  in  1877  71 

monotonously  uniform,  a  kind  of  rotten  staircase, 
steeper  in  some  places  than  in  others,  but  always  the 
same  thing.  We  hurried  as  fast  as  our  legs  would 
carry  us.  Both  the  mountain  and  ourselves  were  in 
excellent  condition,  so  we  made  quick  progress  and 
were  back  at  the  hotel  in  Zermatt  in  time  for  an  early 
cup  of  afternoon  tea.  The  whole  expedition  had  taken 
less  than  twelve  hours'  actual  walking. 

An  ascent  of  the  Weisshorn  was  the  last  big  climb 
of  the  season,  which  concluded  for  me  with  a  failure 
on  Mont  Blanc  through  bad  weather,  and  a  fortnight's 
solitary  wandering  on  such  of  the  glaciers  of  that  range 
as  were  accessible  from  St.  Gervais.  It  was  almost 
an  axiom  then  that  no  wise  man  should  venture  on  a 
glacier  alone.  Solitary  climbing  has  since  been  prac- 
tised by  some  skilful  mountaineers  of  rather  a  reckless 
sort,  and  great  feats  have  been  accomplished.  My 
own  experiments  ^were  not  of  a  very  adventurous 
character,  though  I  came  to  realise  later  that  I  owed 
complete  safety  to  luck.  I  remember  negotiating  a 
hergschrund  by  a  bridge  which  from  below  had  every 
appearance  of  strength,  but  which  revealed  its  crazy 
and  instable  character  from  above  when  it  had  been 
safely  crossed.  Let  no  reader  hold  me  responsible  for 
recommending  the  sport  of  solitary  climbing  when  I 
say  that  only  to  the  lonely  wanderer  does  Nature  reveal 
some  of  her  fairest  secrets.  However  acceptable  a 
companion  may  be,  he  is  a  disturbing  element  in  certain 
moods.  Alone  amid  the  high  snows  a  man  may 
abandon  himself  to  the  maddest  frolic  of  delight.  He 
may  shout  and  sing  and  express  his  joy,  and  there 


72  Motmtain  Memories 

will  be  none  to  call  him  mad  or  put  him  to  shame. 
Rousseau-like,  he  may,  if  he  pleases,  lard  the  glacier 
with  his  tears.  I  had  no  call  to  weep  nor  often  to 
shout,  but  I  loved  these  lonely  days  high  aloft.  They 
were  fraught  with  emotions  long  grown  indistinct,  but 
memory  holds  them  embalmed  in  a  fragrance  none 
the  less  precious  in  that  it  escapes  description. 


CHAPTER   VII 

MOUNTAIN    GEOGRAPHY    AND    HISTORY 

THE  desire  of  possession  marks  the  first  stage  of 
an  emotional  enthusiasm.  What  we  behold  with 
wonder  and  delight,  with  love  and  adoration,  we  seek 
to  absorb.  We  yearn  to  make  it  part  of  ourselves,  to 
become  identified  with  it  inseparably.  That  yearning 
remains  permanent  as  long  as  love  continues.  It  does 
not  even  diminish  when  other  aspirations  are  added 
to  it,  and  may  even  superficially  seem  to  have  replaced 
it.  Affection  breeds  longing  for  knowledge.  Sight  is 
not  enough,  nor  the  mere  presence  of  the  thing  adored. 
We  want  to  know,  to  understand,  to  embrace  the  law 
of  its  being.  So  long  as  love  lasts  increase  of  know- 
ledge inflames  it,  but  if  the  time  arrives  when  such 
knowledge  becomes  a  mere  intellectual  pursuit,  a  thing 
hunted  for  its  own  sake,  love  dies  and  all  the  glory 
of  it  vanishes  away.  Twenty  years  were  to  pass  before 
I  made  this  painful  discovery. 

Thus  my  pilgrimage  of  romance  reached  the  stage 
when  the  desire  for  knowledge  became  absorbing.  The 
easy  approaches  of  ecstatic  enthusiasm  were  passed ; 
the  region  of  serious  investigation  and  study  had  now 
to  be  traversed.  The  reader  must  not  suppose  that 
romance  thereupon  became  dormant  or  ceased  to  in- 
spire. On  the  contrary,  it  was  still  the  glamour  of 
the  high  world  that  kindled  the  longing  for  know- 
F  73 


74  MotLufain  Memories 

ledge.  Every  glorious  sight  beheld  became  onlj^  the 
more  enthralling  when  some  of  the  elements  com- 
posing it  were  imderstood.  It  is,  however,  difficult  in 
describing  this  stage  of  a  mountain  lover's  development 
to  keep  sounding  the  romantic  note.  Let  it  be  re- 
membered that  that  deep  diapason  w^as  not  silenced, 
although  other  subjects  were  introduced  and  em- 
broidered upon  it.  Romance  showed  itself  very  plainly 
in  the  superior  attraction  felt  for  expeditions  not  pre- 
viously accomplished.  The  consciousness  of  romance 
is  never  more  vivid  in  a  man  than  when  he  is  forcing 
his  way  where  no  human  foot  has  trod.  The 
pioneer  generation  of  climbers  enjoyed  emotions  of 
the  same  kind  as  those  experienced  by  Columbus  when 
first  crossing  the  Atlantic,  or  Stanley  traversing  the 
heart  of  unknown  Africa.  The  emotion  was  of  briefer 
duration  but  of  like  kind.  The  great  Alpine  peaks 
had  with  few  exceptions  been  climbed  before  the 
'seventies ;  not  one  remained  virgin  in  the  Zermatt 
district.  Several,  however,  had  only  been  climbed 
from  one  side,  and  there  were  still  passes  uncrossed. 
Curiously  enough,  they  included  two  of  the  easiest  and 
now  most  frequently  used  passes  between  the  valleys 
of  Saas  and  Zermatt — the  Windjoch  and  the  Fee  Pass. 
Both  were  afterwards  traversed  by  me  for  the  first 
time !  Thus  new  routes  were  still  discoverable,  and 
the  joy  of  making  any  of  them  was  the  joy  of  explora- 
tion. Thirst  for  that  form  of  delight  was  taking  root 
within  me  and  steadily  growing.  A  normal  pyramidal 
mountain,  such  as  the  Weisshorn,  has  three  ridges  and 
three  faces ;  it  may  therefore  offer  six  separate  lines 


Mountain  Geography  and  History    75 

of  ascent.  Mountains  of  less  regular  form,  such  as 
Mont  Blanc,  may  offer  many  more.  There  remained 
scope  for  detailed  exploration.  If  one  was  to  attain 
the  delight  of  making  "new  expeditions,"  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  find  out  what  had  already 
been  accomphshed.  Experience  had  shown  that  no 
authoritative  and  exhaustive  record  of  the  doings  of 
our  predecessors  existed,  and  that  no  individual  knew 
completely  what  routes  had  been  climbed  and  what 
not.  I  set  to  work  to  replace  this  ignorance  by 
knowledge. 

I  began  by  questioning  the  Zermatt  guides,  and 
received  much  mutually  contradictory  information 
from  them.  Their  testimonial  books  were  examined 
and  supplied  some  reliable  facts.  Hotel  books,  in 
which  visitors  used  to  write  their  doings  at  length  by 
way  of  occupation  on  wet  days,  yielded  a  number  of 
otherwise  forgotten  or  unrecorded  expeditions.  The 
casual  notes  thus  assembled  were  copied  into  a  book 
on  my  return  to  England.  During  the  following 
winter  the  search  was  continued  in  the  libraries  of 
Cambridge  University  and  of  the  Alpine  Club — the 
latter  then  housed  in  some  rooms  high  up  in  8  St. 
Martin's  Place,  rooms  that  were  solitary  and  cold 
except  in  the  evenings  of  monthly  meetings.  The 
published  volumes  of  the  "  Alpine  Journal  "  were  first 
despoiled.  I  found  them  on  a  recondite  shelf  in  the 
University  Library,  and  worked  steadily  through  them 
while  sitting  perched  on  steps  of  a  little  staircase  in  a 
corner  still  photographed  in  memory.  Nothing  con- 
cerned me  except  the  Zermatt  district,  but  every  re- 


76  Moitntain  Memories 

corded  ascent  made  in  that  part  of  the  Pennine  Alps 
was  meticulously  abstracted  in  my  notebook.  The 
results  thus  attained  were  much  less  complete  than 
the  inexperienced  researcher  imagined,  for  publications 
in  foreign  languages  were  not  consulted  till  later.  They 
sufficed,  however,  as  basis  for  absorbing  discussions 
with  such  other  Cambridge  undergraduates  as  had 
caught  the  climbing  mania,  among  whom  Penhall  of 
Trinity  was  chief. 

The  power  to  describe  accurately  so  complicated 
a  thing  as  a  high  mountain  climb  is  not  innate  in 
climbers.  Experience  showed  that  it  is  rare.  The 
farther  back  you  go  the  vaguer  are  the  descriptions. 
The  invention  of  a  clear  terminology  was  a  slow 
process,  by  no  means  at  that  time  complete.  More- 
over, inexperienced  writers  have  a  curious  habit  of 
writing  "east"  when  they  mean  "west."  No  one 
ever  confuses  north  and  south,  but  they  blunder  also 
about  right  and  left.  To  these  simple  confusions  are 
added  others  due  to  defects  of  memory  and  faulty 
observation.  In  the  end,  therefore,  my  investigations 
left  me  with  a  number  of  problems  as  to  routes  actually 
taken  which  could  only  be  solved  on  the  spot  or  by 
aid  of  better  maps  than  then  existed.  Thus  it  came 
to  pass  that  the  season  was  devoted  partly  to  clearing 
up  some  of  these  topographical  problems,  and  partly  to 
important  expeditions  which  were  certainly  new. 
Among  the  latter  were  to  be  included  the  Rothhorn 
up  the  west  face,  the  Dom  from  the  Domjoch,  and 
the  Cervin  by  the  Stockje  arete.  Penhall  agreed  to 
join  forces  with  Scriven  and  me.    The  party  thus  con- 


Motmtam  Geography  and  History    77 

stituted,  with  Ferdinand  Imseng  as  leading  guide,  duly 
met  at  Gniben  in  the  Turtmanthal  on  the  last  day  of 
July,  1878. 

It  was  not  a  lucky  season.  The  weather  was  bad. 
Our  proposed  route  up  the  Cervin  was  never  approach- 
able. Penhall  and  Imseng  accomplished  it  in  1879 
on  the  same  day  as  Mummery.  Worst  of  all  for  me 
was  an  accident  which  might  have  had  serious  con- 
sequences, the  only  accident  I  have  ever  suffered  on 
mountains.  Like  most  alpine  accidents,  it  was  the 
result  of  folly,  in  this  case  unusually  egregious.  We 
were  intending  to  cross  the  Colle  delle  Loccie,  and 
had  passed  the  Petriolo  Alp.  The  snow  proved  to  be 
in  very  bad  condition.  As  the  final  slope  of  the  col 
is  liable  to  be  avalanchy,  the  guides  declared  that  the 
expedition  must  be  abandoned  for  the  day,  and  that 
we  must  await  the  night's  frost.  We  had  many  hours, 
therefore,  to  waste  at  the  Petriolo  Alp,  and  spent  them 
in  scrambling  up  the  huge  fallen  rocks  that  there  lie 
about.  All  of  us  were  on  the  flat  top  of  one  of  these 
rocks,  which  was  as  big  as  a  house.  We  lit  a  fire  on 
it,  and  that  cheerful  humorist,  Frans  Andermatten, 
went  to  sleep.  The  smoke  drifted  in  his  face  and 
awoke  him.  He  seized  the  burning  rhododendrons 
and  threw  them  at  us.  I  was  standing  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  rock,  and  thoughtlessly  jumped  back  into 
space  and  a  clear  fall  of  some  thirty  feet.  The  last  I 
remember  is  fatuously  trying  to  look  as  though  that 
was  what  I  intended  to  do.  Even  after  so  short  a  fall 
I  did  not  know  when  I  hit  the  ground.  Unconscious- 
ness preceded  the  sense  of  shock.     The  results  were 


78  Mountain  Memories 

not  serious.  I  fell  upon  an  island  of  grass  a  little 
larger  than  myself,  and  I  happened  to  have  my  eoat 
at  the  moment  tied  in  a  thick  roll  round  my  .waist. 
I  also  struck  the  ground  all  along,  head,  back  and 
heels  together.  It  was,  however,  a  week  before  I  could 
climb  again,  thus  missing  some  precious  expeditions. 
If  the  Cervin  withheld  itself,  the  west  face  of  the 
Rothhorn  and  the  Domjoch  arete  of  the  Dom  were 
more  obliging ;  we  successfully  accomplished  both 
scrambles.  Neither  would  now  be  called  difficult, 
though  the  prestige  of  their  novelty  again  imposed 
upon  me,  and  I  thought  them  harder  than  they  were. 
Imagination  has  always  coloured,  illuminated,  or 
clouded  for  me  the  plain  realities  of  mountains.  Perhaps 
that  is  why  I  have  so  loved  them.  Of  the  Rothhorn 
scramble  there  is  little  to  say  except  that  it  led  through 
scenes  of  memorable  beauty.  It  was  a  two-day  under- 
taking. On  the  first  we  crossed  the  Triftjoch  to  the 
Mountet  hut;  on  the  second  we  returned  to  Zermatt 
over  the  peak.  I  remember  being  enchanted  by  the 
loveliness  of  the  little  snow-field  on  the  east  side  of 
the  pass.  It  lies  in  a  recondite  hollow  between  en- 
circling buttresses  and  slopes  of  the  Wellenkuppe  and 
Rothhorn.  Once  within  it  you  have  a  delightful  sense 
of  seclusion.  The  world  of  men  is  utterly  shut  away. 
Not  even  a  cattle-alp  is  visible.  Yet  there  is  no  effect 
of  wildness  or  horror  about  this  solitude,  at  all  events 
in  fine  weather.  It  was  felt  to  be  a  protecting  fortress, 
not  an  enclosing  prison.  Its  supreme  charm  is  due  to 
the  graceful  modelling  of  the  snow-floor,  undulating 
as  beautifully  as  a  tropical  ocean  asleep  after  storm. 


Mountain  Geography  and  History    79 

"quiet  as  a  nun  breathless  with  adoration."  The 
play  of  light  upon  its  spotless  surface  was  indescribably 
tender.  To  tread  upon  that  faultless  floor  seemed  a 
profanation.  The  clattering  staircase  of  rotten  rocks 
on  the  other  side  of  the  pass,  by  emphatic  contrast, 
enforced  the  impression  of  delicacy  left  by  this  home 
of  mountain  fairies. 

The  Dom  ascent  was  far  more  dramatic.  The 
guides  hurried  us  off  mysteriously  one  wet  afternoon. 
They  had  news  of  another  party  meditating  the  same 
expedition,  and  were  eager  to  be  first.  We  slept  in 
reasonable  comfort  beneath  an  overhanging  rock  by 
the  moraine  of  the  Kien  glacier.  The  sky  was  heavy 
with  cloud,  and  the  prospects  for  the  morrow  as  un- 
favourable as  could  be.  At  two  o'clock,  in  pitchy 
darkness,  we  set  forth  toward  the  unknown,  seeing 
naught  but  the  flashing  of  the  lanterns  and  hearing 
only  the  sighing  of  the  wind.  An  hour  later  we  trod 
the  glacier  and  mounted  it  by  a  great  zigzag  across 
and  back,  sweeping  first  far  to  the  right  to  turn  an 
ice-fall,  then  back  to  the  left  to  the  foot  of  the  wall 
of  rock  upholding  the  pass.  It  was  bitterly  cold  and 
our  surroundings  intensely  solemn,  or,  according  to 
one's  mood,  gloomy.  We  found  shelter  for  breakfast 
in  the  bowels  of  the  great  hergschrund,  and  ate  a  cold 
meal  surrounded  by  huge  icicles.  Then  came  the  wall, 
still,  I  believe,  reputed  difficult.  The  rocks  were  cer- 
tainly the  hardest  I  had  up  till  then  tackled.  By 
gullies  and  crests  we  worked  upward,  the  wind  howl- 
ing on  the  ridge  overhead  and  tearing  the  clouds  over 
it  like  grey  fleeces  through  a  mighty  comb.    Presently 


8o  Mountain  Memories 

snow  came  pricking  down  in  little  hail-like  pellets, 
tick,  tick,  ticking  upon  the  rocks.  Two  and  a  half 
hours  of  this  work  brought  us  to  the  arete  some  distance 
above  the  pass.  The  blasts  of  the  gale  came  inter- 
mittently. When  they  fell  on  us  it  was  like  the  impact 
of  a  solid  thing.  Often  the  air  whirled  and  whistled 
around  in  scurrying  vortices.  The  ridge  is  narrow 
and  the  plunges  on  either  hand  are  terrific ;  the  rocks 
were  very  insecure.  The  gale  made  it  necessary  to 
keep  as  much  as  possible  down  on  the  lee  side,  and 
there  the  going  was  more  difficult  than  it  would  have 
been  along  the  crest.  Once  so  strongly  did  the  wind 
smite  the  ridge  as  to  blow  right  off  into  space  a  loose 
rock  the  size  of  a  man's  head  which  had  been  balanced 
upon  it.  A  pitch  of  smooth  slabs  was  the  most  difficult 
obstacle.  There  were  no  handholds  whatever.  We 
made  a  ladder  of  ourselves,  one  upon  another,  and 
the  last  man  hooked  his  axe  over  the  top  edge  and 
hauled  the  others  up.  The  ascent  of  the  ridge  occupied 
almost  four  hours  of  strenuous  exertion.  When  we 
were  least  expecting  it,  lo !  we  were  on  the  summit. 

The  vision  everywhere  lost  itself  in  cloud  at  a  range 
of  but  a  few  yards.  There  was  nothing  to  pause  for. 
As  the  last  man  stood  on  the  top  the  leader  had  already 
begun  descending  toward  the  north.  This  side  is  a 
great  snow-slope,  limited  on  the  left  by  the  north- 
west ridge.  At  first  .we  went  straight  down,  then 
bore  to  the  left  and  kept  on  or  near  the  ridge,  which 
preserved  us  from  wandering  out  of  a  direct  course. 
Not  far  below  the  summit  the  leader  disappeared,  but 
without  straining  the  rope.     Snow  closed  like  water 


Mountain  Geography  and  History    8i 

over  his  head,  yet  he  was  not  in  a  crevasse.  Such  was 
the  state  of  mental  numbness  to  which  we  had  been 
reduced  by  hours  of  the  blustering  and  banging  of 
the  gale  that  no  one  seemed  in  the  least  surprised  by 
this  somewhat  remarkable  occurrence.  Penhall,  who 
was  second  on  the  rope,  stood  still  and  waggled  it  in 
his  hand  as  though  he  had  some  peculiar  fish  on  a  line. 
No  one  said  anything.  Presently  the  leader  emerged 
on  all  fours,  as  white  as  a  miller,  and  we  proceeded 
on  our  downward  way,  giving  a  wide  berth  to  the  spot 
of  disappearance.  That  evening  I  asked  Imseng  what 
had  happened;  he  could  remember  nothing  definite, 
except  that  he  had  crawled  about  on  hands  and  knees 
under  a  load  of  soft  snow  and  found  himself  again  in 
the  open  air.  After  about  three  hours  of  careful 
descent  we  suddenly  came  below  the  cloud-roof,  which 
stretched  away  level  as  a  ceiling,  obliterating  every 
feature  above  it.  The  glacier  was  presently  quitted  with- 
out further  incident,  and  there  only  intervened  between 
us  and  Randa  the  endless  zigzags  of  the  cattle-path. 

The  experiences  of  the  season  of  1878  had  two 
effects.  They  confirmed  and  enlarged  my  interest  in 
mountain  topography  and  history,  and  they  emphasised 
the  attraction  of  "  New  Expeditions."  Thenceforward 
I  cared  only  for  such  climbs  as  were  in  the  nature  of 
exploration,  either  as  traversing  ground  for  the  first 
time,  or  as  revealing  the  structure  of  mountain  districts 
which  could  not  be  comprehended  .without  personal  in- 
vestigation on  the  spot.  The  following  j^ear  was  mainly 
spent  upon  researches  in  Continental  libraries  in  re- 
spect of  subjects  with  which  this  book  is  not  concerned. 


82  Mountain  Memories 

It  is  only  germane  to  notice  that  the  same  process 
which  was  appUed  to  the  collection  and  co-ordination 
of  facts  connected  with  a  certain  category  of  works 
of  art  and  their  historical  development  could  be  applied 
with  little  change  to  the  collection  and  ordering  of 
facts  connected  with  the  structure  of  mountains  and 
the  history  of  mountaineering.  The  two  researches, 
apparently  so  different  in  aim,  could  be  and  were 
carried  on  simultaneously ;  they  acted  and  reacted  on 
one  another. 

Obscurities  in  descriptions  of  several  ascents  were 
cleared  up  by  inspection  of  the  ground  during  weeks 
spent  at  and  about  Zermatt  in  the  summer  of  1880. 
When  I  returned  home  my  notes  were  in  a  sufficiently 
advanced  condition  to  warrant  publication.  The  little 
volume  called  "  The  Zermatt  Pocket-book  "  was  thus 
prepared  for  the  press.  It  was  while  correcting  the 
proofs  that  I  came  into  epistolary  communication  with 
the  Rev.  W.  A.  B.  Coolidge,  Fellow  of  Magdalen 
College,  Oxford,  and,  from  1882,  editor  of  the  Alpine 
Journal.  His  knowledge  of  the  Alps  as  a  whole  was 
far  more  extensive  than  mine.  His  alpine  library, 
now  doubtless  the  finest  existing  in  private  possession, 
was  even  then  remarkable.  He  was  good  enough  to 
offer  me  his  help,  and  it  proved  invaluable.  I  had 
worked  through  extant  literature  and  records  in  the 
English,  French  and  German  languages.  He  added 
the  Italian  and  gave  the  whole  project  his  blessing. 
Thus  began  for  me  a  close  personal  relation  which  has 
lasted  unbroken  down  to  the  present  day.  We  have 
done  much  work  together,  in  which  I  have  always  been 


Motmtain  Geography  and  History    83 

the  receiving,  he  the  giving  partner,  my  indebtedness 
to  him  thus  steadily  accumulating  from  year  to  year. 

"  The  Zermatt  Pocket-book "  issued  obscurely 
from  the  press  in  the  early  weeks  of  1881,  and,  of 
course,  made  no  kind  of  stir  even  in  the  small  coterie 
of  chmbers.  No  one,  and  least  of  all  myself,  could 
have  imagined  how  prolific  an  offspring  was  destined 
to  descend  from  it.  Scores  of  "Climbers'  Guides" 
have  since  been  issued  to  all  sorts  of  mountain  groups 
in  various  parts  of  the  world.  Almost  every  one  of 
them  derives  its  arrangement  lineally  from  "  The 
Zermatt  Pocket-book."  The  little  parent  volume 
has  long  been  out  of  print,  and  is  almost  impossible 
of  present-day  acquisition.  Few  can  realise  the  amount 
of  work  that  went  to  its  production.  Not  alone  had 
the  dozens  of  volumes  in  various  languages  to  be  care- 
fully examined,  but  the  writer  had  actually  to  walk 
over  a  great  deal  of  ground.  Published  accounts  might 
give  accurate  description  of  the  route  followed  up  a 
particular  mountain,  but  they  .would  seldom  describe 
the  footpaths  of  approach.  It  was  necessary  to  walk 
up  almost  every  valley-path  that  led  to  a  glacier  before 
a  brief  description  of  it  could  be  made  that  would  serve 
to  guide  a  new-comer  on  his  way.  To  obtain  informa- 
tion about  the  lower  slopes  was  harder  than  about  the 
heights.  Often  a  confused  description  of  a  climb 
above  the  snow-level  could  be  interpreted  by  a  tele- 
scopic examination  of  the  mountain  from  a  suitable 
point  of  view,  but  the  paths  up  sequestered  valleys 
and  over  cattle-alps,  with  their  many  branchings  and 
their  apparent  inconsequence,  easily  lead  the  wanderer 


84  Mountain  Memories 

astray,  and  it  is  only  by  personal  examination  and  notes 
written  on  the  spot  that  accurate  directions  can  be 
provided. 

No  sooner  was  the  Pocket-book  in  the  hands  of 
climbers  and  in  actual  use  than  its  deficiencies  became 
apparent.  I  heard  little  from  those  who  found  them- 
selves correctly  guided,  but  was  deluged  with  com- 
plaints from  less  fortunate  individuals  who  had  been 
insufficiently  or  wrongly  directed.  A  list  of  obscurities 
requiring  elucidation  thus  rapidly  formed  and  grew. 
Scarcely  was  the  ink  dry  on  the  first  edition  than 
materials  were  collecting  for  another.  Thus  the  season 
of  1881,  like  its  predecessors,  was  almost  necessarily 
devoted  in  the  main  to  clearing  up  points  of  difficulty, 
sometimes  by  traversing  the  ground,  at  others  by 
climbing  to  observation  posts  from  which  details  were 
clearly  visible.  My  companion  for  the  first  part  of 
the  summer  was  my  Cambridge  friend,  Robert  Parker, 
now  deservedly  remembered  with  honour  as  the  late 
Lord  Parker  of  Waddington.  We  began  the  season 
by  a  guideless  exploration  from  Stalden  of  the  glaciers 
covering  the  north  face  of  the  Balfrin  and  over  a  new 
pass  adjacent  thereto — the  Balfrinjoch.  It  commanded 
a  comprehensive  view  of  the  Nadelgrat,  a  ridge  then 
practically  unknown  to  climbers,  though  since  much 
frequented.  A  later  expedition  revealed  the  secrets 
of  the  Nadelgrat's  north  face,  when  we  gave  to  the 
various  peaks  the  names  by  which  they  are  now  well 
known.  Our  arrival  at  Zermatt  and  the  publication 
of  the  Pocket-book  was  celebrated  at  a  supper  given 
by  the  Sellers  and  the  drinking  of  much  Bouvier. 


Motmtain  Geography  and  History    85 

Another  peak,  named  and  thus  presented  with  an 
independent  existence  this  summer,  was  the  Wellen- 
kuppe.  It  had  been  in  full  view  of  every  frequenter 
of  Zermatt,  yet  it  was  neglected.  Lord  Francis 
Douglas,  indeed,  was  known  to  have  climbed  it,  search- 
ing for  a  way  up  the  Gabelhorn,  but  by  what  route 
or  whether  even  from  Zermatt  or  Zinal,  was  not  re- 
membered or  recorded.  Around  Zermatt  there  existed 
a  sufficiency  of  known  points  of  view  easily  accessible 
to  walkers  who  did  not  care  to  adventure  into  the 
regions  of  snow — the  Corner  Grat,  the  Ober  Roth- 
horn,  the  Hornli,  the  Mettelhorn — but  of  easy  snow- 
peaks  compassable  in  a  single  day  the  supply  was  small. 
The  Breithorn  is  easy  enough,  but  rather  long  if 
climbed  from  Zermatt.  The  Untergabelhorn,  though 
interesting,  is  advertised  by  its  name  as  second-rate, 
and  looks  second-rate  whencesoever  beheld.  The  Wel- 
lenkuppe  seemed  likely  to  be  just  what  was  wanted, 
but  as  long  as  it  had  no  name  and  was  regarded  as  a 
mere  outlyer  of  the  Obergabelhorn,  no  one  was  moved 
to  climb  it.  For  bolder  spirits  it  was  too  small,  for 
beginners  too  reputeless.  One  day  we  set  forth  to  see 
what  it  was  like,  and  climbed  it  by  its  east  face  from 
the  Trift  valley.  The  scramble  proved  to  be  enter- 
taining, varied,  and  easy  enough  to  be  safely  under- 
taken as  a  first  expedition  by  any  active  novice. 
Planted  on  the  culminating  rock-platform  is  a  high 
pyramid  of  snow  surmounted  by  a  huge  cornice, 
which  from  afar  looks  like  a  breaking  wave.  I  was 
curious  to  behold  it  near  at  hand  and  pleased  to  stand 
upon  it.     We  named  the  mountain  from  this  wave. 


86  Motmtain  Memories 

and  the  name  has  caught  on.  The  local  guides  were 
delighted  with  the  addition  of  a  pleasant  expedition 
to  their  resources.  It  rapidly  became  popular,  and 
so  continues,  I  believe,  to  the  present  day. 

September  opened  with  a  great  storm.  Snow  fell 
in  unusual  quantities  to  a  low  level.  The  aspect  of 
the  green  hills  about  Zermatt  became  wintry. 
Avalanches  rolled  across  the  mule-track  below  the 
Riffel  Hotel.  A  week  or  more  must  intervene  before 
the  high  mountains  could  return  to  a  climbable  state. 
This  was  the  first  revelation  to  me  of  what  the  Alps 
might  be  like  in  winter,  a  time  of  year  scarcely 
then  sampled  by  travellers.  The  number  of  winter 
ascents  so  far  accomplished  by  English  climbers 
might  be  counted  on  the  fingers  of  two  hands.  Few 
guides  have  much  power  of  description.  They  told 
us  often  enough  of  their  winter  lives,  how  they  spent 
much  time  cutting  wood  in  the  forests  and  bringing 
it  down  to  the  villages,  how  they  kept  their  cattle 
indoors,  and  how  the  days  often  hung  heavily  on 
their  hands.  An  intelligent  and  inquisitive  person 
who  spends  summer  after  summer  among  an  interest- 
ing folk  in  friendl}^  intercourse  with  them  will  desire 
to  understand  their  way  of  life.  The  circumstances  of 
their  surroundings  make  it  widely  different  from  that 
of  dwellers  in  the  plains.  With  the  progress  and 
regress  of  the  seasons,  mountain-dwelling  people  must 
change  the  level  at  which  they  live  and  work.  Cattle 
and  goats  are  their  livelihood,  and  have  to  be  fed  in 
the  depths  of  the  valleys  in  winter  and  on  the  highest 
attainable  grass  in  midsummer.     Hay  for  winter-feed 


Mountain  Geogi^aphy  and  History    87 


has  to  be  saved  at  every  level  and  carried  down. 
Cheese  has  to  be  made  daily  wherever  the  beasts  may 
be  pasturing.  Centuries  of  experience  have  gone  to 
building  up  the  traditions  which  now  dictate  the  work 
of  iVlpine  peasants  in  every  month  of  the  year. 
Similar  traditions  rule  wherever  like  conditions  obtain. 
Increasing  familiarity  with  the  people  and  their  habits 
impresses  the  observer  with  a  sense  of  the  antiquity 
of  the  life  he  sees  the  peasants  pursuing  in  the  valleys 
of  the  Alps.  Each  generation  does  from  month  to 
month  much  the  same  work  as  its  countless  prede- 
cessors. 

I  had  been  a  climber  through  many  seasons  before 
coming  to  reahse  this  antiquity  of  Alpine  life.  Inquiry 
brought  to  light  much  published  record  of  the  history 
of  the  peasant  communities  into  whose  midst  we  came 
for  a  few  weeks  in  summer  to  live  our  own  lives  of 
sport  which  barely  touched  theirs,  only  affecting  them 
as  bringing  to  their  villages  a  market  for  their  milk 
and  a  new  occupation  for  their  adventurous  young 
men.  I  believe  it  was  during  the  days  of  storm  this 
Septembei^  that  I  happened  upon  a  little  printed 
pedigree-book  of  the  Zermatt  families,  and  discovered 
that  the  Taugwalders,  the  Bieners,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them  (our  porters,  muleteers  and  guides)  belonged  to 
families  which  had  been  settled  about  Zermatt  as  far 
back  as  the  thirteenth  century.  It  also  appeared 
that  the  constitution  of  the  Commune  still  preserved 
features  then  impressed  upon  it,  and  that  the  names 
of  fields  and  alps  were  of  hke  antiquity.  Ancient 
treaties    between   village    and   village,   regulating   the 


88  Mottntain  Memories 

supply  of  water  by  mountain-canals  and  its  distribu- 
tion hour  by  hour  to  every  man's  property,  were  found 
to  be  still  in  accepted  and  successful  operation.  The 
whole  landscape  of  the  grazed  alps  took  on  a  new 
significance.  Small  torrents  of  water  captured  from 
a  glacier  stream,  led  by  skilful  engineering  across  hill- 
sides, and  finally  discharged  by  countless  little  rivulets 
upon  every  yard  of  the  grass-land,  were  found  to  be 
of  hoary  antiquity,  and  the  ridged  surface  of  the 
ground  to  be  due  to  centuries  of  deposition  of  fine 
glacier-mud  in  the  beds  of  the  little  channels  or  at 
the  points  of  their  final  discharge.  As  understanding 
of  these  matters  increased,  the  visible  landscape  of 
the  region  immediately  below  the  snow-line  and  down 
to  the  valley-floors  took  on  a  new  significance.  Its 
picturesqueness  became  involved  in  a  tangle  of  human 
memories,  accumulated  activities,  monumental  accom- 
plishments of  successive  bygone  generations.  But  by 
however  much  this  region  was  thus  humanised,  by 
just  so  much  was  the  aloofness  of  the  abode  of  snow 
increased.  The  Cervin  attained  a  new  dignity  from 
its  age-long  association  with  the  dwellers  at  its  foot, 
who  had  one  and  all  regarded  it  and  the  heights,  its 
neighbours,  as  part  of  that  other  world  which  was  the 
home  of  ghosts  and  mysterious  powers.  Folk-lore 
and  local  history  thus  added  themselves  as  desirable 
subjects  of  study  to  the  plain  topographical,  geo- 
graphical, glaciological,  botanical  and  other  scientific 
inquiries  which  had  been  the  occupation  of  my  previous 
seasons  spent  in  the  Alps. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

LOVE   AND   DEATH 

THE  Alps  as  a  playground  had  ceased  to  be  all- 
satisfying  by  the  time  now  reached  in  this  chronicle. 
Year  by  year  their  attraction  had  become  of  a  more 
literary  and  less  gymnastic  character.  Their  beauty 
.was  keenlier  enjoyed,  but  it  was  perceived  to  be  all- 
pervading,  not  confined  to  the  highest  levels.  Days 
among  the  snows  were  as  delightful  as  ever,  but  they 
were  enriched  by  alternation  with  periods  of  valley 
wandering  and  visits  to  the  level  of  the  middle  passes. 
Once  or  twice  I  had  descended  from  the  crest  of  the 
high  range  into  the  depths  of  Italian  valleys,  where 
the  chestnuts  grow.  Their  exuberance,  their  laughing 
waters  crystal  clear,  their  luxurious  aspect  after  the 
austerit)^  of  the  Swiss  valleys  attracted  me  with  ever- 
increasing  power.  The  sight  of  the  Italian  plain 
beheld  from  such  peaks  as  the  Strahlhorn  or  Monte 
Rosa  was  a  strong  magnet.  Why  I  resisted,  year 
after  year,  this  draught  toward  Italy  I  cannot  now 
remember,  but  I  held  grimly  to  love  of  the  art  schools 
of  the  north,  of  Van  Eyck  and  Diirer,  and  of  the 
northern  slopes  and  valleys  of  the  Alps  as  summer 
playground.  In  1882  my  resistance  gave  way,  and  a 
new  chapter  of  life  opened  with  Italy  for  its  central 
feature. 

On  one   thing   I   was  determined.     I   would   not 

G  89 


90  Mountain  Memories 

enter  Italy  through  a  tunnel  by  train.  It  was  early 
spring-time.  Here  was  a  chance  of  seeing  somewhat 
of  winter  effects  in  the  Alps.  Brieg  was  the  first 
halting-place,  and  a  day  was  given  to  visit  the  Belalp 
— an  over-vaunted  point  of  view,  as  it  turned  out. 
The  deserted  hotel  and  Tyndall's  Chalet  were  deep  in 
snow.  Not  a  soul  was  met  during  the  last  hour  of  the 
ascent.  It  was  a  wearisome  excursion.  Next  day 
I  walked  over  the  Simplon,  temporarily  closed  to 
wheeled  traffic  by  avalanches  falling  all  over  the  place. 
The  warmth  of  spring  had  come  with  a  sudden  burst 
and  all  the  hill-sides  were  loud  with  the  sound  of  its 
coming.  The  details  of  the  way  are  forgotten,  but  I 
iWell  remember  having  to  climb  over  a  wall-sided 
avalanche  at  rest  barring  the  road.  Much  higher  up, 
on  turning  a  corner,  there  came  into  view  a  cirque, 
or  bay,  in  the  hills  round  which  the  road  curved. 
Roadmen  stopped  me  at  this  point  and  made  me 
stand  and  watch.  I  had  not  long  to  wait.  Avalanche 
after  avalanche,  all  of  then>  small,  fell  across  the  road 
round  the  cirque,  now  at  one  point,  now  at  another. 
I  forget  how  many  scores  of  them  were  counted  fall- 
ing within  an  hour  or  two.  At  last  they  stopped, 
the  supply  apparently  exhausted.  I  was  then  able  to 
proceed,  and  reached  the  summit  in  safety. 

The  descent  was  uneventful  till  low  down,  almost 
at  the  chestnut  level.  For  some  time  a  great 
rumbling  had  been  audible  ahead.  It  grew  louder  as 
I  approached,  and  waxed  to  a  thunderous  roar.  A 
bend  in  the  road  revealed  the  cause.  It  was  an 
avalanche  of  a  kind  I  had  never  before  beheld.     Some 


Love  and  Death  91 


great    incurving   hollow   in    the   heights,    some    wide, 
steep   valley-head,    was   discharging    its    entire   winter 
accumulation  of  snow  at  one  catastrophe.     The  slopes 
converged   to   a   gully,   a  cataract  track   in  summer- 
time.   Down  this  the  snow  was  pouring  in  a  continuous 
stream,    leaping    over    steep    pitches    like    waterfalls, 
crawling    serpent- wdse    down    narrow    gullies,    inces- 
santly renewed  from  above  as  a  fluid  pouring  out  of 
a  reservoir.     It  came  to  rest  on  the  floor  of  the  main 
valley,   bridging  the  torrent  and   piling  itself  into   a 
great  cone  about  the  exit  from  its  parent  gully.    Long 
I   stood  watching  it  from  the   road   which  traversed 
the  opposite  hill-side.     It  had  been  falling  before  I 
came   in   sight  of  it ;   it   was   still   pouring   forth  its 
apparently  exhaustless  supply  when  I  passed  beyond 
hearing.     Such  are  the  great  spring  avalanches  which 
annually   debouch   at  definite   well-known    spots    and 
mark  for  the  inhabitants  the  opening  of  the  season. 
When  summer  is  far  advanced  the  black  remainder 
of  them,  smothered  in  diit,  can  still  be  traced  by  the 
obsei*vant  traveller,  who  little  imagines  the  grandeur 
of  their  hour  of  descent  nor  the  enormous  size  of  their 
piled-up  volume  when  first  come  to  rest.     The  warm 
depths   to   which   they   descend   cause  them   to   melt 
rapidly.     Were   it   otherwise,    they    would    outlast   a 
summer  and  originate  glaciers. 

Thus  the  violence  of  the  Alps  was  left  behind. 
Long  stretches  of  open,  gently  sloping  valley  followed, 
and  then  Maggiore,  on  to  who,se  bright  surface  I  had 
so  often  gazed  from  far  aloft  as  on  a  sea  of  glass  from 
the  walls  of  heaven.     There  they  all  were — Baveno, 


92  Motmtain  Memories 

Stresa,  Isola  Bella,  Pallanza  beyond — all  the  places 
with  the  well-known  names  that  sound  in  the  ear 
like  music.  It  was  not  like  entering  a  foreign  land, 
but  rather  as  though  at  last  coming  home.  Thus 
some  son  of  an  Arab  parent  born  in  the  far  north 
might  feel  when  brought  in  view  of  the  clean  desert 
where  all  his  forefathers  had  ranged.  Nothing  was 
unexpected.  The  painters  had  told  truth,  but  the 
reality  was  more  entrancing  than  any  pictures.  So 
Italy  burst  upon  me.  Months  of  hard  work  followed, 
mostly  spent  in  Florence — Italian  to  learn,  every 
picture,  sculpture  and  building  to  be  seen,  notes  to 
be  written  and  re- written,  all  the  art-histories  to  be 
read.  It  was  a  time  of  incessant  labour  from  early 
morning  till  midnight.  When  the  cup  of  acquisition 
was  for  the  time  filled  and  assimilation  ceased,  the 
Alps  again  called  imperatively. 

After  a  day  or  two  spent  at  the  Lakes  in  their 
midsummer  exuberance,  I  was  back  at  Macugnaga, 
with  the  great  wall  of  Monte  Rosa  challenging  from 
aloft.  No  one  knows  the  Alps  who  approaches  them 
only  from  the  north.  On  one  arriving  from  Italy 
their  snowy  grandeur  falls  with  the  stimulating  effect 
of  contrast.  The  hour  of  arrival  was  brilliantly  clear. 
The  Belvedere  view  revealed  every  couloir  and  rib  of 
the  vast  rampart  from  the  Nordend  on  the  left, 
round  to  Monte  Moro  on  the  right.  The  old  passion 
of  investigation  revived,  and  a  desire  to  disentangle 
all  the  muddled  story  of  the  passes  over  the  ridge — 
Weissthor,  Old  Weissthor,  Mattmark-Weissthor,  and 
the  rest.     Tradition  pointed  here  and  there  to  the  site 


Love  and  Death  93 

of  ancient  pilgrimage-passages.  Early  climbers  also 
had  crossed,  and  no  one  rightly  knew  the  ways  they 
had  followed.  I  spent  a  day  or  two  examining  the 
ground,  cross-questioning  local  authorities,  trying  to 
make  sense  of  the  records.  Everything  ultimately  fell 
into  place  save  the  crest  above  one  recondite  glacier 
in  a  hollow  corner  at  the  foot  of  the  Jagerhorn  spur 
of  Monte  Rosa,  about  which  information  was  lacking. 
A  wall  of  rocks  furrowed  by  a  long  couloir  rose  to 
the  skyline.  It  was  almost  a  repetition  of  the  Fuorcla 
Prievlusa  in  the  Engadine.  I  decided  to  reach 
Zermatt  by  this  passage  with  Louis  Zurbriggen  as 
my  companion.     We  named  it  the  Fillar  Pass. 

A  brilliant  morning  found  us  making  our  way 
round  the  end  of  the  Macugnaga  glacier,  over  the 
Fillar  Alp,  and  so  approaching  the  foot  of  the  wide 
Castelfranco  gully  or  rocky  bay  which  branches  out 
above  into  all  those  couloirs  and  rock-ribs  that  provide 
routes  for  one  or  another  of  the  many  so-called  Old 
Weissthors.  None  of  them  is  really  an  old  pass,  but 
at  that  time  it  was  supposed  that  one  of  them  might 
be.  After  crossing  below  the  foot  of  the  Castelfranco 
glacier,  and  walking  steadily  uphill  for  an  hour  or 
two,  we  came  to  the  next  bay  in  the  great  mountain 
wall,  the  last  that  leans  up  against  the  mass  of  Monte 
Rosa  itself.  The  glacier  within  this  hollow  is  known 
as  the  Fillar.  It  is  broken  across  by  an  ice-fall  which 
was  easily  turned  by  the  rocks  of  its  left  bank.  The 
sloping  snowfield  spread  before  us  as  >ve  sat  on  these 
rocks,  and  the  remainder  of  our  way  was  clear.  We 
had  only  to  tramp  up  the  snow  and  climb  the  wall 


94  Motmtain  Memories 

above  it.  An  inviting  couloir  carried  out  its  promise 
to  afford  us  ready  access  to  the  pass  overhead.  Some- 
times we  cUmbed  in  it,  sometimes  on  the  steep  but 
easy  rocks  by  its  side.*  The  day  was  glorious,  the 
view  over  the  ItaUan  lakes  and  foot-hills  spread  wider 
each  time  we  turned  round.  The  crags  of  the  great 
mountain  on  our  left  jutted  aloft  like  the  buttresses 
of  a  cathedral  nave.  The  strenuous  exertion,  the 
vivifying  air,  the  untamed  natural  surroundings,  the 
wide  expanse  of  earth  displayed,  enveloped  mind  and 
body  in  a  stimulating  embrace  after  months  of  Italian 
luxury  and  warmth.  Though  well  remembered,  all 
yet  seemed  new ;  the  glory  of  the  world  enraptured 
the  reawakened  soul. 

Other  climbs  followed  —  mostly  repetitions  of 
scrambles  made  before.  If  novelty  provides  an  over- 
whelming charm,  and  no  one  felt  that  more  than  I 
did,  there  is  also  a  peculiar  delight  in  revisiting  scenes 
already  well  known  and  repeating  under  fresh  circum- 
stances of  weather  and  condition  expeditions  that  have 
been  more  than  once  enjoyed.  Thus  I  made  my  third 
ascent  of  the  Rothhorn,  this  time  in  company  ^vith 
a  clergyman  friend  of  many  years.  Arrived  on  the 
summit,  he  stood  up,  took  off  his  hat,  and  loudly 
sang  the  Doxology,  calling  upon  me  to  join  in  lustily. 
The  astonished  echoes  added  their  voices  and  kept  the 
chorus  going  after  we  were  through.  The  puzzled 
guides  looked  on  in  silence. 

*  Professor  Garwood,  who  climbed  it  some  years  later,  criticised  me  for 
not  warning  climbers  against  this  pass.  He  found  the  wall  a-clatter  with 
falling  stones  and  the  couloir  an  avalanche  track.  When  we  crossed  it 
was  on  its  good  behaviour. 


Love  and  Death  95 

Late  in  July  word  came  that  a  friend  of  ours  had 
been  killed  while  attempting  the  ascent  of  one  of 
Mont  Blanc's  Italian  outliers.  Walter  Leaf  and  I 
set  forth  at  eleven  o'clock  that  night,  and  reached 
the  St.  Theodule  at  sunrise — a  sunrise  which  flooded 
the  Graians  with  glory.  I  thought  of  Blake's  reply  : 
"  What!  when  the  sun  rises  do  you  not  see  a  disc  of 
fire,  somewhat  like  a  guinea?"  "Oh,  no,  no!  I 
see  an  innumerable  company  of  the  heavenly  host,  cry- 
ing, '  Holy,  holy,  holy  is  the  Lord  God  Almighty  ' !  " 
We  tramped  on  down  the  valley  to  Chatillon  (eleven 
hours'  walking  from  Zermatt),  and,  driving  thence, 
reached  Courmayeur  at  midnight.  Next  morning  we 
met  the  body  of  our  friend  as  it  was  carried  in,  a 
very  different  meeting  from  that  which  he  and  I  had 
planned  in  England  a  few  weeks  before.  We  buried 
his  guide  and  performed  such  other  ministrations  as 
were  possible. 

Mont  Blanc  in  splendour  now  bore  a  strangely 
new  aspect.  I  make  no  attempt  to  depict  the  deep 
emotion  of  those  days.  This  only  let  me  say  :  If  Love 
is  a  great  revealer,  even  so  is  Death.  The  staggered 
mind  is  receptive  to  visions  not  otherwise  revealed. 
The  great  mountains  did  not  seem  inimical,  as  the 
Cervin  used  to  seem.  No !  They  put  on  an  aspect 
of  higher  dignity.  They  withdrew  themselves  again 
into  that  other  world  to  which  years  ago  they  had 
seemed  to  belong.  The  old  emotions  returned  with 
novel  force,  infinitely  enriched.  There  was  no  longer 
question  of  regarding  peaks  as  problems,  as  things  to 
be  climbed.     They  stood  forth  in  majestic  brilliance 


96  Mountain  Memories 

as   a   white   wall  between   the  kingdoms   of  life  and 
death. 

I  took  a  guide  one  day  and  climbed  toward  the 
site  of  the  accident.  The  way  led  me  past  the  still 
clearly-marked  sleeping  places  both  of  my  friend  and 
of  another  party  which  had  perished  on  the  cliffs 
beyond.  The  climb  was  not  easy,  and  I  was  far  from 
light-hearted.  Never  before,  or  since,  have  the  high 
regions  borne  for  me  the  aspect  they  wore  that  day. 
My  men  left  me  alone  on  a  high  crest,  gazing  across 
the  deep-lying  glacier  at  the  fatal  spot.  A  pall  of 
noontide  glory  enveloped  the  mountain.  Hours  passed 
in  dream.  The  shining  hollow^  of  the  snows  seemed 
a-hum  with  ghosts  like  swarming  bees,  yet  infinitely 
peaceful.     As  an  echo  on  soft  music  came  the  lines  : 

O  fear  not  thou,  whate'er  befall 
Thy  transient  individual  breath  ; 

Behold,  thou  knowest  not  at  all 
What  kind  of  thing  is  Death  : 

And  here  indeed  might  Death  be  fair, 

If  Death  be  dying  into  air, 

If  souls  evanished  mix  with  thee, 

Illumined  heaven,  eternal  sea. 

It  was  two  years  before  the  desire  to  climb 
reawakened.  Let  no  one  suppose  that  during  this 
interval  the  power  and  charm  of  mountains  was  in 
abeyance  for  me.  At  no  time  were  they  more 
potent,  more  keenly  and  consciously  felt.  Now  I 
approached  the  enjoyment  of  them  in  communion  of 
heart,  not  ashamed  to  outpour  the  feelings  they 
quickened.   Sympathy  awakened  expression  and  shared 


Love  and  Death  97 

a  common  joy.  Fate,  Providence  if  you  will,  provided 
the  needed  atmosphere.  Long  months  in  Italy  had 
been  spent  with  a  party  of  friends,  who  became,  and 
remained  for  life,  the  dearest  of  all  friends.  For  once 
"the  time  and  the  place  and  the  loved  ones"  were 
all  together.  The  beginning  was  among  the  hill- 
towns  of  Umbria,  the  ripening  through  long  weeks  at 
Venice.  In  that  company  Art  took  a  new  signific- 
ance, and  the  exploration  of  its  treasures  became  not 
a  mere  study  of  technical  achievement,  but  a  progres- 
sive revelation  of  Divine  power  manifested  in  human 
handiwork. 

Reader,  if  you  and  I  are  to  be  real  comrades,  we 
must  share  the  same  adventures  of  fancy  and  of  soul. 
You  musi;  see  my  whales  and  elephants  in  the  clouds, 
and  must  leap  to  the  same  god-given  revelation, 
whether  in  art  or  nature.  My  fairies  must  be  thy 
fairies,  and  my  gods  thy  gods.  Hand  in  hand  we 
must  thrill  with  a  single  rapture — ' '  le  coeur  en  fleur 
et  I'ame  en  flamme."  Shared  emotion  is  the  source 
and  fountain  of  art.  What  is  a  work  of  art  but  an 
incorporated  emotion  in  flight  from  soul  to  soul?  I 
have  written  above  of  the  charm  of  solitude  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountains,  but  visions  of  beauty  die  unless 
they  are  shared.  Beauty  perceived  in  common  is  the 
fertile  union  of  souls.  Therein  life  culminates  and 
bursts  into  blossom.  The  fruit  may  not  ripen  for 
years,  but  at  such  moments  it  sets. 

All  works  of  art  that  appeal  to  us  have  begun  as 
visions  of  beauty  imaginatively  beheld  by  inspired 
seers.    All  are  not  for  each  of  us.    To  some  revelations 


gS  Mo7mtaijt  Memories 

we  are  congenitally  blind,  but  no  one  is  blind  to  all. 
The  artist  beholds,  in  Nature  it  may  be,  an  effect  of 
beauty.  He  casts  it  by  his  magic  on  canvas,  or  gives 
it  permanent  fomi  in  some  other  material,  or  writes 
it  dow^n  in  music  or  in  w^ords.  He  does  so  partly 
because  the  creative  impulse  drives  him,  partly  because 
only  thus  can  he  share  it  with  others — not  all  others, 
but  some ;  here  and  there  one  only  it  may  be,  but  the 
expected  fellow-soul  is  partner  in  the  work.  The 
reader  is  presumed  by  the  writer,  the  percipient  by 
the  painter  or  musician.  Were  it  not  so  no  work  of 
art  would  be  made.  Now  the  world  is  full  of  things 
that  artists  have  fashioned  and  poets  sung.  They  each 
and  all  await  accepted  entry  into  other  hearts.  It  is 
for  us  to  absorb  this  heritage.  No  millionaire  can  do 
so  by  right  of  purchase  any  more  than  a  landlord  owns 
the  landscape  by  any  legal  right  of  possession.  Those 
only  possess  a  work  of  art  who  can  behold  in  it  the 
artist's  vision.  The  sensitiveness  demanded  is  the 
birthright  of  a  few,  but  it  can  be  cultivated  by  all. 
Mutual  sympathy  is  the  key  that  unlocks  the  treasure. 
What  one  sees  Love  can  help  another  to  find. 

It  is  the  same  with  Nature.  To  own  the  land- 
scape you  must  comprehend  its  beauty.  The  beauty 
of  Nature  is  multiform.  One  can  find  one  sort  of 
beauty  in  it,  another  another,  and  Love  can  transfer 
the  emotion.  Artists  can  render  such  perceived 
effects  in  paint,  poets  in  verse.  The  mass  of  man- 
kind has  to  learn  from  artists  and  poets  what  to  see 
in  Nature.  The  beauty  of  sunsets  has  become  more 
evident  since  Turner  painted  them.     We  of  to-day 


Love  and  Death  99 


have  been  taught  by  our  forefathers  to  perceive  the 
refined  lovehness  of  English  domestic  landscape. 
Kent,  the  garden  of  England,  no  longer  needs  inter- 
preters. Its  villages,  its  fields  and  copses,  its  hills 
and  Wealden  plain,  are  by  all  admired.  Three 
centuries  ago  it  was  not  so.  This  was  the  best  that 
Michael  Drayton  could  think  of  for  praise  : 

O  famous  Kent, 
What  county  hath  this  isle  that  can  compare  with  thee  ? 
That  hath  within  thyself  as  much  as  thou  can'st  wish : 
Thy  rabbits,  venison,  fruits,  thy  sorts  of  fowl  and  fish ; 
As  with  what  strength  comforts,  thy  hay,  thy  corn,  thy  wood. 
Nor  anything  doth  want  that  anywhere  is  good. 

The  most  banal  of  journalists  now  knows  more 
than  that,  not  by  his  own  discovery,  but  by  heritage 
of  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  the  seers  of  beauty  that  have 
gone  before  him  since  Drayton's  day. 

Two  years,  whose  passing  needs  no  description, 
were  enriched  for  me  by  a  new  power  of  sight  fostered 
by  sympathy.  Thus  even  the  aesthetically  blind  may 
be  made  to  see  and  the  dim  eyes  endowed  with 
clearer  vision.  We  spent  weeks  at  Cortina  and 
among  the  Dolomites.  I  was  not  tempted  to  climb 
one  of  them,  but  delighted  in  their  beauty  none  the 
less.  Limestone  in  my  opinion  is,  after  volcanic 
rock,  the  nastiest  to  climb,  but  it  is  famous  material 
for  a  fine  mountain  architecture.  Who  that  has  seen 
Cristallo  or  the  Drei  Zinnen  will  deny  it?  Among 
these  peaks  exciting  scrambles  are  famous.  I  have 
adventured  none  of  them,  yet  the  Dolomites  to  me 


100  Moujitain  Me7nories 

jtre  not  a  whit  less  memorable  or  less  well  remembered 
for  their  beauty  than  the  mountains  I  have  climbed. 
From  Cortina  we  drove  acmss  Tirol  and  Switzerland, 
spending  happy  days  here  and  there  en  route. 
Pontresina  was  revisited,  and  the  glaciers.  They 
generated  no  mountaineering  impulse.  The  snows 
had  withdrawn  themselves  aloft  like  clouds  that  only 
children  hope  to  rest  on.  When  the  delight  of  the 
eye  could  be  shared  only  at  low  levels,  the  high 
places  were  robbed  of  their  attraction.  The  sym- 
pathetic apjpreciation  of  beauties  beheld  in  common 
was  an  educative  power  which  sealed  its  impress 
permanently  during  those  two  Sabbatical  years. 


CHAPTER    IX 

PENNINE  AND   LEPONTINE   WANDERINGS 

IN  the  summer  of  1884  we  travelled  through  post-haste 
from  New  York  to  Turin ,  iVi<£4^i^vtp  mtijic-  a  home 
in  Venice.  Behind  us,  on  oiitejing  tl-taljj^-fGlLthe  bars 
of  a  cholera-quarantine,  an^'  we'wei'e'l'ockecf  *i"ri;  A 
few  weeks  at  Orta,  then  up  to  Alagna,  and  above  it 
to  the  simple  inn  on  the  Colle  d'Olen — it  was  a 
magical  transformation.  I  had  several  times  looked 
down  upon  the  Italian  plain  from  high  peaks  and 
passes,  a  vision  hoped  for  on  lucky  days  but  relatively 
seldom  beheld.  Now  our  windows  commanded  such 
a  view,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  in  which  it  was  not 
displayed  for  an  hour  or  so ;  sometimes  all  day  long. 
A  lake,  the  plain,  and  in  it  the  long  bright  line  that 
is  Milan  and  the  marble  Duomo  in  the  midst,  some- 
times dancing  and  trembling  in  the  heat,  sometimes 
sleeping  in  amethystine  air,  or  like  a  level  sea  in  the 
moonlight,  but  never  twice  the  same.  Had  there  been 
any  moderately  level  ground  on  which  to  walk,  the 
summer  might  have  passed  in  contemplative  repose. 
But  there  was  no  flat  ground.  The  snow  began  a 
few  yards  away.  Outliers  of  Monte  Rosa  were  close 
on  one  side,  little  rock  peaks  on  the  other.  Their 
proximity  and  the  desire  for  movement  soon  led  me 
aloft.  These  scrambles  were  all  races  against  time; 
I  was  generally  back  in  time  for  breakfast,  and  always 

lOI 


102  Mo2intain  Me^nories 

for  lunch.  Thus  I  cUmbed  all  the  southern  peaks  of 
Monte  Rosa.  Some  of  the  earUest  mountain  explorers 
had  adventured  in  this  region  of  the  snows  and 
recorded  their  doings.  It  used  to  be  entertaining  to 
follow  in  their  footsteps  and  try  to  see  things  as  they 
had  seen  them  with  eyes  of  wonder. 

In  the  eighteenth  century,  and  perhaps  long 
before,  tke're  wasia-fradition  at  Gressoney  that  a  lost 
valley  ?ay:  Iridd^li:  \t\  the  heart  of  the  Monte  Rosa 
mountains.'  It  was  fabled  to  be  an  earthly  paradise, 
carpeted  ,with  richest  meadows,  watered  by  clearest 
streams,  shadowed  by  fruitful  trees,  but  cut  off  on 
every  side  by  impassable  glaciers.  Accordingly  in  the 
year  1778  (the  story  is  told  by  De  Saussure)  seven 
men,  led  by  Niklaus  Vincent  (whose  name  is  now 
borne  by  the  Vincent  Pyramide),  started  away  from 
Gressoney  and  ascended  all  the  length  of  the  Lys 
glacier  to  the  Lysjoch.  They  climbed  to  the  top  of 
a  little  peak  of  rock  on  the  col,  and,  looking  abroad 
toward  the  unknown  valley  of  Zermatt,  they  cried 
aloud  that  the  tale  they  had  been  told  was  true,  and 
the  Lost  Valley  was  found.  They  called  the  place 
the  Rock  of  Discovery  (Entdeckungsfeh).  I  thought 
that  I  would  like  to  follow  in  their  steps  and  see  what 
they  saw.  We  found  and  chmbed  the  rock.  The 
view  that  smote  upon  our  eyes  was  memorable. 
There  was  a  lowering  sky  above ;  a  shaggy  glacier 
below.  Between  them  stretched  along  all  the  line  of 
great  mountains  from  the  Dent  Blanche  to  the 
Mischabelhorner.  The  Lyskamm,  with  its  bold 
arete  end-on,  shut  us  in  on  the  left.     Full  in  front 


Pemvine  and  Lepontine  Wanderings  103 

rose  the  Hochste  Spitze  of  Monte  Rosa,  and  round 
to  the  right  the  other  summits  in  their  order.  The 
green  slopes  about  Zermatt  lay  like  an  emerald  set 
in  silver. 

Five  or  six  weeks  on  the  heights  sufficed.  We 
returned  to  Alagna,  and  spent  a  day  or  two  at 
Varallo,  a  beautiful  pilgrimage  resort  since  affection- 
ately remembered  by  lovers  of  Samuel  Butler.  I  had 
visited  it  before,  arriving  from  Orta  after  a  wonderful 
walk.  We  had  left  that  village  in  the  night,  and 
rowed  across  the  silent  lake  and  close  under  the  Isola 
San  Giulio,  from  which,  I  am  told,  that  ancient 
saint  drove  away  the  snakes,  as  did  St.  Patrick  from 
Ireland.  Then  we  had  walked  in  moon-  and  twilight 
up  the  fertile  and  wooded  slopes  of  a  valley  to  the 
Colle  della  Colma,  at  its  head,  where  the  dawn  broke, 
and  we  were  greeted  by  the  far-off  crest  of  Monte 
Rosa  aflame  with  crimson  fire.  The  descent  to  Varallo 
was  through  another  luxuriant  valley.  It  brought  us 
to  the  hotel  in  time  for  breakfast.  The  little  expedition 
is  one  of  the  loveliest  among  these  Italian  foot-hills, 
and  thus  is  Varallo  best  approached.  The  arrival 
from  north  or  south  by  the  main  valley  is  compara- 
tively prosaic,  but  the  place  itself,  with  its  paintings 
and  its  chapels,  enclosing  terra-cotta  sculptured 
groups,  is  full  of  the  spirit  of  romance  for  those 
whose  hearts  unfold  in  such  an  atmosphere. 

The  summer  of  1884  had  taken  me  back  to  the 
snows  and  renewed  the  happiness  of  wandering  on  the 
heights,  but  it  had  loosened  the  hold  of  Zermatt 
upon   me.     Though   we  returned  thither   more  than 


104  Mountain  Memories 

once,  it  thenceforward  ceased  to  be  the  pivot  of  my 
climbing.    Parts  of  three  seasons  were  devoted  to  the 
liCpontine  Alps,  which  had  first  attracted  me  when 
seen  from  the   Belalp   and   afterward   were  found  to 
demand     examination     from     the     editors     of     the 
"  cumbers'  Guides,"  for  by  this  time  the  Zermatt 
Pocket-book's    family    of    offspring    was    dimly    fore- 
shadowed.     When     the     original     little     half-crown 
volume,  having  gone  out  of  print,  was  eagerly  pur- 
chased  for  a  guinea  second-hand,   it  became  obvious 
that  something  better  of  the  kind  was  called  for,  so 
I   went  to   work  to   provide  it.     The  exploration  of 
the  Lepontines  was  accordingly  taken  in  hand,  with 
Coolidge  as  my  climbing  companion.    The  expeditions 
we  made  together,  in  so  far  as  they  were  new,  have 
been  published,  and  are  not  worth  recapitulation  in 
this    place.      One    was    the   first    recorded    ascent    of 
Cherbadung,  about  which  I  remember  nothing  except 
that  the  morning  of  that  day  was  so  wet  that  we 
remained  in  bed  and  came  down  late  for  breakfast. 
The  weather  then  changed,  and  wt  started  off  at  the 
unorthodox  hour  of  10.30  a.m.  and  successfully  accom- 
plished our  climb.     Returning  to  the  hotel,  we  met  a 
Swiss  party  which,  by  careful  research,  had  discovered 
the  virginity  of  this  obscure  peak,  and  come  to  climb  it 
just  a  day  too  late.    They  had  to  use  the  engraving  of  it 
prepared  for  their  own  intended  story  to  illustrate  the 
account  of  our  scramble.   It  really  was  rather  hard  lines. 
On  Monte  Leone  Coolidge  and  I  had  our  nearest 
approach  to  a  quarrel.     We  had  reached  the  Kalten- 
wasser  Pass,  and  were  breakfasting  on  it.     The  old- 


Pennine  and  Lepontme  Wanderings  105 


fashioned  route  thence  took  an  immense  detour  over 
soft  snowfields,  but  it  was  clear  that  nothing  would 
prevent  a  direct  ascent  from  the  Col  to  the  peak. 
Not  only  was  the  route  shorter  and  less  laborious,  but 
it  was  new,  and  I  still  adored  any  kind  of  new  route. 
Nothing,  however,  would  budge  Coolidge.  He  was 
going  to  follow  the  old  way,  m  primis  because  it  was 
old  and  had  been  taken  by  certain  early  climbers  in 
whose  exploits  he  was  interested ;  secondly,  because 
that  was  the  route  we  had  started  out  to  climb ; 
thirdly,  because  the  other  route  was  new,  and  he  was 
fed  up  with  new  routes.  Being  a  person  of  a  naturally 
obliging  disposition,  I  gave  way,  and  we  floundered 
for  hours  over  the  softest  of  soft  snow,  not  reaching 
the  summit  till  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  all 
"sunburnt  and  sorrowful." 

A  second  visit  to  Binn  made  in  the  following  year 
(1887)  was  for  the  purpose  of  passing  over  the  Of  en- 
horn  and  visiting  the  region  beyond.  Our  previous 
visit  and  something  we  may  have  written  about  the 
little  village  had  given  it  a  passing  vogue,  and  the 
hotel  was  full  all  the  season.  The  landlord,  who  had 
formerly  described  himself  to  me  as  "  rich  in  children 
and  debts,"  was  revelling  in  unexpected  prosperity, 
of  which  he  regarded  me  as  the  author.  When,  there- 
fore, I  demanded  a  cold  chicken  to  be  included  in 
my  climbing  provisions,  he  declared  that  though  he 
had  none  in  the  larder,  one  should  be  forthcoming, 
even  if  he  had  to  steal  it — and  forthcoming  it  was 
next  morning.  The  weather  was  evil  and  our  local 
guide  ignorant.    This  time  Coolidge  was  not  with  me. 


io6  Motmtain  Memories 

We  blundered  up  the  Ofenhorn,  and  sat  down  at  a 
high  elevation  to  lunch.  The  bird  was  produced. 
Knives  slid  off  it.  Axes  rebounded  from  it.  The 
breast  could  only  be  peeled  off  in  muscular  cords. 
The  legs  defied  us.  I  gave  hold  of  one  to  the  guide, 
and  grasped  the  other.  We  pulled,  and  they  opened 
out  straight  to  east  and  west,  but  would  not  give  way. 
When  we  let  go,  they  folded  up  again  as  though 
they  had  been  trussed.  We  heaved  the  thing  over  the 
rocks.  It  bounded  off  like  a  football  from  ledge  to 
ledge,  finall)^  disappearing  in  one  wide  parabola  into 
the  mist  quite  undamaged ! 

The  parts  to  the  south  and  east  of  the  Ofenhorn 
are  as  wild  and  unfrequented  as  any  areas  in  the 
Alps.  We  wandered  over  them  in  fog,  and  only  by 
good  luck  found  the  Lebendun  Lake.  Heavy  rain 
added  to  our  discomfort.  At  long  last  we  gained  the 
Tosa  Falls  just  before  night.  No  waterfall  in  the 
Alps  is  more  beautiful — a  bridal  veil  over  ledged 
rocks.  A  gale  was  blowing  all  next  day,  and  the 
water  waved  and  leapt  about  in  wildest  confusion. 
We  had  intended  to  climb  the  Basodine  on  the  day 
following,  but,  though  the  sky  was  clear,  a  hurricane 
was  blowing  from  the  north,  and  we  had  much  ado 
to  get  ourselves  over  the  easy  Bocchetta  di  Val 
JMaggia.  Once  in  the  shelter  of  the  valley  all  trouble 
was  at  an  end,  and  hoiu's  of  sheer  delight  followed. 
I  doubt  whether  there  exists  in  the  whole  world  a 
valley  more  beautiful  from  end  to  end  than  this.  One 
descends  from  terrace  to  terrace,  and  each  is  more 
lovely  than  the  last.     From  each  hangs  a  w^aterfall. 


CROZZON   Dl    roSA. 


Photo  :  Spencer. 
FKOM   ROAD  NEAR  MADONNA   DI   CAMPIGLIO. 


Pen7iine  and  Lepontine  Wanderings  107 

and  others  pour  in  from  side  valleys.  There  is  music 
of  mshing  water  everywhere — not  the  booming  roar 
of  a  great  glacier  river,  but  the  gentler  murmur  of 
many  waters,  which  do  not  unite  into  a  considerable 
torrent  till  the  lower  levels  are  reached.  The  waters 
are  crystal-clear,  with  flowery  margins.  The  path  goes 
sometimes  along  the  bank,  sometimes  far  above  it.  At 
every  turn  a  new  vista  of  beauty  opens.  The  grass 
seemed  greener,  the  sky  bluer,  the  flowers  brighter  than 
I  could  remember.  Every  hour  the  vegetation  became 
more  luxuriant.  The  cottages  were  endowed  with  an 
Italian  grace  w^hich  no  Swiss  chalet  can  rival ;  they 
were  perched  on  the  loveliest  shelves  as  though  best 
to  see  and  to  be  seen,  or  gathered  into  hamlets  or 
villages  perfectly  grouped  about  charming  churches. 
Intoxicated  with  beauty,  we  arrived  at  Bignasco, 
prettiest  village  of  all,  with  an  inn  at  that  time 
admirably  kept.  In  the  hall  of  it  was  a  marble  basin, 
and  therein  trout  swimming.  The  landlord  handed 
me  a  little  net  and  bade  me  choose  which  I  pleased. 
When  we  had  washed  our  hands  it  was  served  for  my 
lunch  perfectly  cooked. 

Another  year  (1890)  Coolidge  and  I  were  again 
in  the  Lepontines.  We  started  from  Berisal,  on  the 
Simplon  road,  and  climbed  the  Wasenhorn.  One  of 
the  densest  of  fogs  enveloped  us  on  the  summit, 
making  it  impossible  to  reconnoitre  a  route  down  the 
Italian  side.  We  just  had  to  blunder  through  as 
fortune  might  dictate,  the  route  in  any  case  being 
new,  and  all  of  us  entirely  ignorant  of  the  locality. 
We   struck   down  the    steep   but    easy   rocks   of  the 


io8  Mottntain  Memories 

south-east  face,  and  so  zigzag  by  ribs  and  gullies, 
which  shouldered  us  into  a  snow  couloir  with  the  red 
rocks  of  the  south  arete  on  one  hand  and  the  black 
rocks  of  the  south-east  buttress  on  the  other.  The 
couloir  was  long  and  steep,  and  we  cut  and  trod  our 
way  down  it  ignorant  of  whither  it  might  lead.  An 
extraordinary  silence  reigned,  punctuated  at  rare 
intervals  by  the  clatter  of  a  falling  stone — a  scaring 
sound  when  it  is  overhead  and  the  fog  hides  the  course 
of  the  missile.  Then  snow  fell  heavily.  In  three  hours 
we  came  to  the  hergschrund,  and  an  hour  later  w^ere  at 
the  little  inn  on  the  Veglia  Alp,  soaked  to  the  skin. 

Day  and  night  for  three  days  it  snowed  above  and 
rained  below,  so  that  nothing  of  the  remembered 
charm  of  the  place  was  visible.  The  Veglia  Alp  is 
one  of  those  beauty-spots  on  the  southern  side  of  the 
watershed  .which  tourists  do  not  visit  and  are  never 
likely  to  spoil.  The  tendency  of  modern  transport 
conditions  is  to  nail  down  the  tourist  crowd  to  definite 
changeless  tracks.  Faster  and  faster  the  human  torrent 
flows,  and  more  and  more  deeply  does  it  become  com- 
mitted to  its  own  gullies.  The  area  it  ruins  with  its 
foul  irrigation  becomes  wider  spread,  the  network  of 
its  channels  grows  more  elaborate,  but  where  the 
channels  have  not  been  cut  the  flood  does  not  extend. 
Veglia  will  never  be  on  the  line  of  a  tourist  route. 
Its  beauties  are  not  staggering  enough  to  strike  the 
insensitive  into  wonder,  but  they  are  none  the  less  of 
rare  quality.  The  great  extension  of  the  high  grazing 
ground  makes  an  obvious  appeal ;  it  spreads  abroad 
within  a  huge  amphitheatre,   not  as  flat  meadowland 


Pennine  and  Lepontine  Wanderings  109 

spreads,  but  undulating  and  broken  by  many  valleys. 
There  are  old  grass-grown  moraines  and  others  covered 
with  trees.  There  are  also  little  lakes.  This  green 
expanse  is  embattled  about  by  rugged  mountains 
and  lofty  snowfields,  from  Monte  Leone  through  all 
the  Lepontine  peaks.  The  tiny  hostelry,  half  chalet, 
half  inn,  is  planted  in  the  midst  of  this  fair  encircle- 
ment. The  air  is  always  full  of  the  clang  or  tinkle 
of  cow-bells,  near  or  remote ;  herds  that  seem  count- 
less graze  in  scattered  multitude. 

For  three  days  all  this  was  blotted  out.  Coolidge 
and  I  remained  indoors  and  spent  our  time  writing 
the  substance  of  the  "  Climbers'  Guide "  to  the 
Lepontine  Alps,  to  be  published  the  year  after  the 
corresponding  Pennine  Guides,  which  replaced  (1890- 
91)  the  Zermatt  Pocket-book.  In  the  afternoon  of 
the  fourth  day  the  weather  cleared,  and  a  white  world 
was  revealed.  All  the  grassland  was  deep  in  snow  of 
a  brilliancy  fairly  blinding.  We  seized  the  occasion 
to  climb  the  Pizzo  Valgrande  di  Valle,  of  which  I 
remember  nothing,  not  even  the  glorious  view 
recorded  in  my  journal.  Next  day  the  storm  returned 
and  drove  us  back  from  the  Hitter  Pass,  »which  we 
might  have  crossed  if  we  had  not  lost  our  way  in  fog 
and  mistaken  a  notch  in  a  side-ridge  for  the  gap  on 
the  summit  crest.  When  we  came  below  the  clouds 
it  was  too  late  to  correct  our  blunder.  The  day  was 
the  last  of  August,  and  there  seemed  little  hope  of 
any  early  change  for  the  better.  The  storm  continu- 
ing, all  the  cattle-folk  started  downhill  next  morning, 
driving  their  hungry  beasts  before  them.     They  had 


no  Mountain  Memories 


been  unable  to  graze  for  the  best  part  of  a  week,  and 
were  calling  aloud  for  food.  In  me  also  arose  a 
desperate  desire  for  more  humane  surroundings,  and 
even  Coolidge  had  had  snow  enough  to  last  him  for 
a  spell,  so  we  made  our  way  to  Pallanza  and  across 
to  Laveno,  whence  at  evening  we  beheld  in  perfect 
clearness  the  great  peaks,  Monte  Rosa,  the  Mischabel, 
and  the  Fletschhorner.  All  of  them  were  red  in  the 
dawn  next  day. 

That  was  for  me  a  day  of  frolic,  when,  with  the 
paraphernalia  of  guides  and  equipment  suitable  for 
high  climbing,  we  scrambled  up  by  the  Sasso  di 
Ferro,  over  other  hills  to  Monte  Nudo,  and  down  the 
far  side  to  Luino.  Coolidge,  though  at  first  scornful 
of  such  trifles,  presently  dilated  with  joy  at  the 
thought  that  this  might  be  a  track  Freshfield  had 
never  followed !  Nothing  could  be  more  glorious  than 
the  scenery  on  every  side  at  every  hour.  In  the 
distance  we  could  see  the  Maritime  Alps,  the  Viso, 
Monte  Rosa,  the  Saas  Grat,  the  Lepontines,  with  the 
Finsteraarhorn  peeping  over;  but  these  were  a  mere 
background  to  the  wide  expanse  of  Italian  plain  and 
always  the  glorious  lake  at  our  feet.  No  one  knows 
the  beauty  of  the  Lakes  who  has  not  looked  down 
upon  them.  Their  margin  and  their  surface  are  happy 
places  enough  for  a  day  or  two,  but  it  is  to  the  high- 
planted  spectator  that  they  display  the  perfection  of 
their  charms.  That  was  the  day's  great  discovery ; 
since  then  I  have  made  it  a  practice  to  linger,  not 
beside,  but  above  lakes  and  rivers.  Let  the  reader 
take  the  hint;  he  will  not  be  unthankful. 


CHAPTER   X 

HIGH-LEVEL  ROUTES 

MODERN  mountaineers  who  have  had  patience  to 
read  thus  far  will  long  ago  have  concluded  that 
the  kind  of  climbing  herein  described  is  not  at  all  their 
sort.  There  has  been  little  enough  of  the  thrilling 
adventure  for  which  they  seek  :  none  of  their  giddy  cliffs 
and  microscopic  handholds,  no  cracks  meandering  up 
vertical  walls  of  rock  and  leading  to  knife-edged  slabs, 
no  pitches  blocked  by  overhanging  boulders  which  have 
to  be  swarmed  over,  no  going  aside  to  discover  barely 
practicable  lines  of  ascent  for  sport's  sake  in  over- 
coming Nature's  challenge.  Let  them  not,  however, 
suppose  that  prompting  to  such  adventure  never 
moved  me.  I  heard  tell,  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  about 
the  joys  of  the  Chamonix  Aiguilles,  and  was  for  a 
time  kindled  with  the  wish  to  experience  them.  This 
^was  the  prompting  that  took  me  to  Chamonix  in 
1890 ;  I  intended  to  experiment  on  the  Aiguille  du 
Geant,  and  settled  down  among  the  strenuous  com- 
pany assembled  at  the  Montanvers. 

Man  proposes,  but  weather  disposes.  From  the 
moment  of  arrival  intermittent  snowstorms  visited  the 
hills,  and  more  expeditions  were  made  by  us  down  to 
the  flesh-pots  of  Chamonix  than  up  to  the  splintered 
crags  of  the  Aiguilles.     The  Aiguille  du  Tacul  was 

the  only  accomplishment  of  the  first  week.     After  « 

III 


112  Mountain  Memories 

promising  night,  Broome  and  I  set  forth  for  the 
Geant.  We  spent  two  hours  and  a  half  wandering 
in  cloud  and  snow,  wind  and  thunder,  on  the  snow- 
field  near  its  foot  before  we  found  the  hut  on  the 
col.  Egregious  weather  drove  us  back  to  our  base 
round  by  way  of  the  Col  de  la  Seigne.  Freshfield 
was  spending  the  summer  in  one  of  the  finely-situated 
chalets  on  the  Col  de  Voza,  where  I  met  him,  and  for 
lack  of  better  employment  we  settled  to  climb  Mont 
Blanc  together.  To  that  end  we  slept  at  the  Grands 
Mulcts,  meeting  Charles  Edward  Mathews  on  his  way 
down  from — was  it  the  sixteenth  of  his  ascents  of 
that  mountain?  As  the  sun  was  lowering  behind  the 
Lake  of  Geneva  the  w^estern  sky  was  barred  by  narrow 
layers  of  cloud  with  crimson  spaces  between.  When 
the  sun  shone  through  these  it  richly  dyed  the  snows 
on  which  we  stood.  When  it  passed  behind  the  bars 
the  snows  w^ere  blanched.  Thus  the  high  landscape 
alternately  blushed  and  paled  and  blushed  again,  and 
only  to  those  high-standing  as  w^e  were  was  the  cause 
apparent. 

Let  no  one  suppose  because  the  ascent  of  Mont 
Blanc  by  the  ordinary  route  is  easy  that  it  is  lacking 
in  magnificence.  It  is,  in  fact,  splendid  throughout. 
Few  more  gorgeous  snow-scenes  are  displayed  any- 
where in  Europe  than  that  which  surrounds  a  climber 
who  has  gained  the  Grand  Plateau.  We  enjoyed  it  in 
tolerable  peace,  but  as  we  rose  to  the  Vallot  hut  near 
the  Bosse  the  cold  became  intense,  and  so  strong  a 
wind  was  blowing  that  the  arete  could  not  be  traversed. 
The  gale  dropped  after  we  had  lingered  an  hour  or 


Photo :  S/iencer. 
AIGUILLE   DU   GEANT.  FROM  THE   PERIADES  GLACIER. 


High-Level  Routes  113 

more  in  the  hut,  where  the  thermometer  registered  I 
forget  how  many  degrees  below  zero  (Fahrenheit), 
though  the  door  was  shut  and  the  interior  crowded 
with  men.  There  was  no  view  from  the  summit  this 
time,  but  that  is  a  matter  of  least  account  in  the  case 
of  Mont  Blanc,  whose  glory  is  in  the  detailed  snow  and 
ice  scenery  all  the  way  up  and  down,  not  in  the  great 
expanse  of  lower  mountains,  hills,  and  plains  visible 
from  the  top. 

It  was  probably  good  luck  that  rendered  unattack- 
able  the  fine  rock-peaks  I  had  come  to  essay.  Patience 
gave  out,  and  I  prepared  to  set  forth  on  a  different 
kind  of  adventure.  Had  the  fates  otherwise  decreed, 
I  might  have  been  shinning  up  difficult  rocks  on 
obscure  mountains  from  that  day  till  this.  The 
experiences  of  the  next  few  days  otherwise  deter- 
mined. After  a  farewell  scramble  with  Mathews  on 
the  Aiguille  d'Argentiere  and  a  final  day  of  storm  at 
the  Montanvers,  I  started  away  from  the  hotel  with 
a  party  of  friends  to  make  what  proved  to  be  a  new 
High-Level  Route  to  Zermatt.  I  felt  like  a  boy 
escaped  from  school  as  the  famous  "  Centre  "  was  left 
behind  and  we  were  off  on  our  travels,  intending  to 
move  on  from  day  to  day  instead  of  constantly  return- 
ing to  our  starting-point.  Our  beginning  was  mild 
enough,  as  befitted  the  wretched  condition  of  the 
heights.  We  crossed  the  Mont  Blanc  range  by  the 
low  Champex  Pass.  There  is  a  lake  on  the  top.  The 
sun  was  shining  when  we  reached  it,  and  the  air  was 
deliciously  fresh.  Waters  plashing  against  the  shore 
threw    up    glittering    diamonds    in    their    gaiety.     A 


114  Mou7itain  Alemories 

joyous  mood  possessed  all  of  us.  I  have  never  seen 
Champex  since,  but  when  the  memory  of  it  recurs  it 
is  of  a  place  not  merely  beautiful  but,  as  it  were, 
permanently  endowed  with  happiness.  It  would  be 
foolish  to  risk  marring  that  by  going  there  again. 
Would  it  not  be  >vise  never  to  revisit  the  sites  of  joy? 
The  Velan  was  the  next  hurdle  in  our  steeplechase, 
and  we  surmounted  it  in  an  easy  stride  by  the  normal 
route.  The  view  is  one  of  the  finest  panoramas  in 
the  Alps,  and  we  beheld  it  in  perfection  :  Geneva's 
lake,  the  ranges  of  Mont  Blanc,  the  Graians,  the 
Tarentaise,  and  all  the  rest,  the  splendid  Combin  near 
at  hand.  Novelty  began  with  the  descent,  made  by 
the  south-east  face,  which  is  furrowed  by  long  couloirs. 
We  struck  down  rocks  beside  the  central  snow-filled 
gully,  and  presently  took  to  one  of  the  couloirs  and 
went  down  it  to  a  grassy,  chamois-haunted  mound  at 
its  foot.  I  am  never  happier  than  in  a  couloir,  if 
stones  will  abstain  from  bombarding  me.  When  not 
too  steep,  couloirs  form  the  loveliest  highways  for 
descent  in  fine  weather.  Whatever  a  couloifs 
gradient,  it  always  produces  the  effect  of  steepness. 
One  feels  like  going  down  a  ladder  of  indefinite 
length.  With  one's  back  to  the  mountain,  a  wall  of 
rock  on  either  hand,  the  snow-strip  leading  down 
between  to  some  neve  basin  or  glacier,  spreading  out 
below  as  foreground  to  the  floor  of  a  view  away  and 
away  over  foothills  to  remote  ranges  and  plains,  the 
eye  and  the  fancy  are  continually  entertained.  More- 
over, every  step  leads  so  evidently  down  in  the  desired 
direction.     There  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  route.     Prob- 


High-Level  Rotttes  115 

ably  the  leader  has  to  cut  quantities  of  steps,  so  that 
the  rest  (and  I  never  desired  to  be  anywhere  but 
among  the  rest)  have  plenty  of  time  to  look  about 
and  enjoy  the  scenery.  There  is  generally  a  glissade 
to  end  up  with,  and  then  a  long  halt  for  food  at  the 
bottom  of  the  great  ladder,  which  is  so  fine  to  look 
back  at  from  below. 

By  walking  and  driving  we  reached  Aosta,  and 
spent  the  next  morning  there  among  mediaeval  build- 
ings and  Roman  remains,  rejoining  our  guides  in  the 
afternoon  where  we  had  left  them,  at  Valpelline,  and 
walking  up  with  them  to  the  By  Alp  for  the  night. 
By  is  not  of  such  rare  beauty  and  extent  as  the  Alp 
of  Vegha,  but  it  is  good  enough.  The  huts  are  beside 
a  large  flat  meadow,  the  bed  of  an  old  lake,  which 
grows  luxuriant  grass.  A  storm  noisily  visited  the 
place  during  the  night,  but  passed  clear  away  after 
raging  for  a  few  hours.  Next  morning  we  divided 
into  two  parties,  and  each  traversed  a  new  pass  (the 
Col  de  Luisettes  and  the  Col  Vert),  besides  climbing 
for  the  first  time  the  Aiguille  de  LuiseUes.  They  were 
easy  enough,  if  I  rightly  remember.  We  reunited 
at  the  Col  du  Sonadon,  and  slept  at  Chermontane, 
after  a  delightful  day.  An  imposing  thunderstorm 
again  possessed  the  night  and  ushered  in  an  evil- 
looking  day.  Its  looks,  however,  belied  it.  Rain, 
having  failed  to  delay  our  starting,  cleared  off,  and 
brilliant  weather  replaced  it  as  we  were  mounting  the 
wide  and  very  gently  sloping  Otemma  glacier.  Of  all 
the  glaciers  known  to  me  in  the  Alps  this  most  nearly 
resembles    a    typical    Arctic    glacier.     Its    width,    its 


ii6  Mountain  Memories 

slight  incline,  the  apparent  fewness  of  crevasses,  the 
relative  lowne.ss  of  the  white  hills  about  it,  are  the 
Arctic  features,  about  w^hich  I  shall  have  more  to  say 
hereafter.  Arrived  on  the  upper  basin,  we  mistook 
the  col  we  ought  to  have  crossed,  for  the  various  cols 
hereabout  are  rather  featureless  depressions  between 
moimds  easily  to  be  confused  one  with  another.  I 
think  we  ultimately  crossed  three  successive  cols  over 
the  main  and  side  ridges.  It  is  not  worth  while  set- 
ing  forth  details ;  they  were  all  recorded  at  the  time. 
Ultimately  we  again  blundered  into  a  steep  snow 
couloir,  which  could  not  have  been  descended  except 
in  an  avalanche  if  the  snow  had  not  been  in  excellent 
condition.  By  glacier,  moraine,  and  the  usual  succes- 
sion of  features  we  reached  Praraye,  and  there  spent 
the  night.  The  pass  we  had  crossed  appeared  to  be 
a  new  invention. 

We  had  now  got  into  the  swing  of  our  stride  and 
felt  the  delight  of  movement.  We  were  not  merely 
climbing,  but  journeying.  The  descent  each  afternoon 
was  as  novel  as  the  morning's  ascent.  What  was 
beheld  ahead  one  day  was  traversed  the  next.  The 
known  .was  always  being  left  behind,  the  unknow^n 
disclosed.  It  was  like  life.  I  felt  that  I  could  swing 
along  thus  for  ever.  There  was  no  more  talk  of 
stopping  at  Praraye  than  anywhere  else ;  Praraye 
invites  no  one  to  stay.  Next  morning,  therefore,  in 
spite  of  threatening  weather,  we  were  off  and  away. 
The  great  ridge  which  from  the  Cervin  thrusts  south, 
rising  first  to  the  peak  of  the  Dent  d'Herens,  con- 
tinues on  as  Les  Grandes  Murailles.     It  bristles  with 


High-Level  Routes  117 

small  rock  summits,  but  its  distinguishing  feature  is 
the  long  buttressed  cliff  which  forms  its  east  face 
toward  the  Val  Tournanche.  On  the  west  it  is  easy 
of  approach  from  the  Valpelhne  glacier,  but  the  other 
face  offers  many  a  difficult  problem  for  the  rock- 
climber.  We  gained  the  crest  of  this  ridge  at  a  point 
never  before  crossed — the  Col  de  Creton.  A  steep 
rock-chimney  led  us  into  yet  another  snow  couloir, 
longer  and  steeper  than  its  predecessors.  It  is  the 
longest  couloir  I  ever  descended.  An  hour  from  the 
top  we  came  to  an  overhanging  rock  close  on  our  left, 
just  in  time  to  shelter  under  it  from  a  wild  thunder- 
storm. The  guides  made  a  bundle  of  our  hissing  axes  p> 
and  carried  them  a  few  yards  away,  fearful  that  they  i 
would  attract  the  lightning.  After  the  storm  the 
weather  cleared,  and  down  we  went,  sometimes  on 
snow,  sometimes  on  rocks.  Where  the  snow  ended 
a  waterfall  leapt  forth  from  a  cavern  beneath  it.  The 
vertical  cliff  drove  us  to  traverse  to  the  left  over  shelves 
of  grass  between  little  precipices.  We  never  knew 
whether  we  should  not  find  ourselves  altogether  cut 
off,  but  there  was  always  a  way  out,  twice  over  water- 
falls. At  last  we  deboviched  on  a  great  debris  slope, 
and  our  difficulties  were  at  an  end.  We  spent  the 
night  in  Breuil's  hospitable  inn,  where  I  for  the  first 
time  met  the  now  so  well-known  mountain  explorer, 
Fihppo  de'  Filippi. 

A  commonplace  crossing  of  the  St.  Theodule 
brought  this  little  journey  to  its  end  at  Zermatt. 
Next  day  I  joined  Coolidge  at  St.  Niklaus  for  the 
purpose  of  exploring  with  him  the  peaks  and  cols  in 


ii8  Moimtain  Memories 


the  neighbourhood  of  the  Barrhorn,  which  at  the  time 
were  practically  unknown.  The  Swiss  Dufour  map 
of  this  region  was  then  pure  fiction  and  bore  no 
relation  whatever  to  Nature.  The  walk  was  laborious, 
owing  to  the  great  height  of  grass  and  rock  slopes 
that  had  to  be  surmounted  from  the  low-lying  village 
to  reach  the  snow  level.  We  accomplished  what  we 
set  out  to  do  by  chmbing  an  apparently  virgin  peak, 
which  now  on  the  present  accurate  Siegfried  map  is 
duly  named  Stellihorn  and  correctly  planned.  Three 
wet  days  intervened,  during  which  we  transferred  our- 
selves to  Berisal,  and  thence  made  the  Lepontine 
expedition  already  described,  followed  by  a  hill- 
wandering  among  the  Italian  Lakes. 

Thus  the  whole  season,  after  Chamonix  had  been 
abandoned,  was  one  of  movement  from  place  to  place 
by  high-level  routes.  I  never  again  desired  to  settle 
down  at  some  climbing  centre  and  make  radiating 
expeditions  thence  and  back.  "  To  give  room  for 
.wandering  is  it  that  the  world  was  made  so  wide," 
said  Goethe.  Travel  had  always  delighted  me ;  now 
the  combination  of  mountain  climbing  with  continual 
moving  on  proved  to  be  the  form  of  mountaineering 
that  gave  the  richest  return.  Henceforward  I  desired 
nothing  better.  Wandering  has  a  romance  of  its  own 
which  the  stationary  holiday-maker  ignores.  It  is  a 
continuous  leaving  of  old  things  behind  and  affronting 
new  situations.  It  is  a  passing  from  the  known  to 
the  unknown.  It  opens  wide  the  door  of  opportunity. 
It  invites  revelation.  It  stimulates  expectancy.  It 
repeatedly  presents  known  features  in  new  forms  and 


Hip;h-Level  Rotttes  119 


^^ 


combinations.  For  the  wanderer  the  end  of  the  day 
is  as  novel  as  the  beginning.  His  human  encounters 
are  most  varied.  He  may  meet  a  brother  soul  on  the 
road  or  an  instinctive  enemy.  He  must  part  from 
either  at  latest  by  next  day.  A  fleeting  moment 
of  pleasant  companionship  must  be  caught  on  the 
wing.  A  lovely  prospect  must  be  fixed  in  the  memory 
at  one  seeing.  It  will  never  be  beheld  again.  There 
arises  a  consciousness  of  momentum.  It  becomes 
easier  to  proceed  than  to  stop.  An  enforced  halt  for 
more  than  a  day  is  painful.  On  and  on  one  must  go. 
It  is  like  life.  I  date  my  passion  for  exploring  remote 
mountain  ranges  from  this  summer  journey. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    CALL    OF   THE   EAST 

THE  desire  to  travel  far  afield  was  almost  innate 
in  me.  It  had  been  fostered  and  directed  by  long 
months  spent  in  Egypt,  Syria,  Cyprus,  Greece,  Con- 
stantinople, and  Algiers  in  1888  and  1889.  Then  it 
was  that  I  first  "  heard  the  East  a-calling."  I  have 
heard  it  ever  since.  I  hear  it  now.  The  dark-haired, 
long-headed  Mediterranean  race  which  in  the  dawn  of 
mankind  wandered  up  to  these  islands  has  many  a 
representative  living  in  the  mixed  population  now 
called  English.  We  have  been  submerged  under 
conquering  Celts,  Goidelic  and  Brythonic,  conquering 
Romans,  Anglo-Saxons,  Danes,  Normans  and  so  forth. 
We  have  been  mixed  with  Flemings,  Huguenots  and 
Jews ;  but  in  every  generation  some  of  us  hark  back 
to  the  deepest  stratum  of  our  local  ancestry,  and  in 
the  hearts  of  those  who  so  revert  there  lies  an  instinc- 
tive love  of  the  warmth  and  richness  of  the  north 
African  lands  from  which  they  draw  the  fundamental 
elements  in  their  nature.  To  such  the  East  makes 
strongest  appeal.  In  the  cold  north  they  feel  that 
they  are  essentially  strangers  in  a  strange  land.  Not 
till  they  come  into  a  sim-illumined  desert  do  they 
really  find  themselves.  There  at  last  they  are  at  home. 
Somewhat  thus  did  I  feel  on  first  entering  Egypt. 
The  land   and  the  people  were  acceptable  from  the 

120 


The  Call  of  the  East  121 

beginning.  As  months  passed  on  the  Nile  and  in  the 
neighbouring  deserts  the  spirit  of  the  East  became 
absorbed.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing  this  spirit  of  the 
East.  From  the  dawn  of  history  it  has  been  breathed 
upon  the  Western  world,  and  all  of  civihsation  ,we 
possess  is  the  result  of  that  influence.  The  greatest 
achievements  of  European  mankind  have  arisen  from 
the  marriage  of  East  and  West.  This  generated  the 
Art  and  Philosophy  of  the  Greeks,  the  architecture 
and  decoration  of  Byzantium,  the  cathedrals,  churches 
and  castles  of  mediaeval  Europe,  our  heraldry,  and 
even  chivalry  itself.  The  spirit  of  the  East  shed  light 
upon  the  West,  and  received  in  return  from  it  law, 
order  and  obscurantism.  We  give  to  the  Orient 
votes,  science,  machines,  drains,  police,  inoculations, 
unimaginative  honesty,  education  based  upon  reading 
and  writing,  and  an  art  founded  on  drawing  from  the 
nude.  Wherever  European  influence  extends  decora- 
tive Oriental  art  dies.  The  true  life  of  the  East  is 
based  upon  handicraft,  not  upon  words.  The  root  of 
its  organisation  is  the  family  and  the  village  com- 
munity, not  voted  representation.  The  East  was 
civilised  thousands  of  years  before  the  West  emerged 
from  barbarism.  The  sign  of  Civilisation  is  Manners. 
In  the  Oriental  world  of  sunshine,  colour  and  romance 
good  manners  have  penetrated  to  levels  of  society 
which  in  the  West  remain  barbarian.  Beggar  and 
prince  can  be,  because  in  fact  they  are,  social  equals. 
It  is  a  world  of  movement  and  of  wide  horizons. 
Every  laden  camel  that  passed  through  the  streets  of 
Cairo   till   recently   might  have   brought   his   burden 


122  Mountain  Memories 

from  Samarkand  and  be  on  his  way  to  Morocco  or 
Timbuctoo.  Any  merchant,  till  recently,  peddhng 
his  wares  in  a  cubby-hole  in  the  Muski  might  the 
year  before  have  been  trading  in  Fez,  the  year  before 
that  in  Tashkend.  There  was  a  sense  of  spaces  and 
distances  about  Oriental  life  till  the  West  invaded  it. 
Much  of  the  old  East  had  vanished  before  I  saw 
it,  but  much  still  remained  that  has  vanished  since. 
I  found  it  wonderful  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  people 
not  ashamed  to  acknowledge  God  by  publicly  praying 
wherever  they  happened  to  be  at  the  hour  of  prayer 
and  performing  their  devotions  in  those  monumental 
attitudes  wherewith  Islam  has  endowed  the  world. 
It  was  a  new  thing  to  behold  a  people  who  wore 
drapery  for  clothes  and  stood  out  against  the  light 
like  monumental  statues — men  and  w^omen  whose 
movements  were  as  free  as  those  of  a  young  colt,  and 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  corporeal  stiffness  of  the 
European.  The  setting  in  which  these  people  live 
was  as  delightful  to  me  as  they  were.  In  the 
sun-illumined  dust  their  moving  figures  seemed  like 
phantoms  wandering  from  afar.  I  loved  the  clean- 
liness of  the  desert,  the  enveloping  glory  of  the 
sunshine.  I  can  still  smell  the  faint  odour  that  drifts 
in  violet  smoke  across  the  fields  at  sundown  from 
every  village  at  the  hour  of  the  evening  meal.  I  loved 
the  shouting  of  the  men  in  the  street.  I  loved  what 
I  could  learn  of  their  language  and  the  poetry  of 
their  everyday  speech.  The  Arabian  Nights  became 
credible.  I  was  as  much  in  the  world  of  romance  as 
ever  in  boyhood. 


The  Call  of  the  East  123 

As  then  I  had  longed  for  the  Alps,  so  now, 
returned  to  England,  I  longed  yet  more  passionately 
to  go  back  to  the  East,  to  go  farther  East  than 
before,  to  "  somewhere  East  of  Suez."  This  desire, 
coupled  with  experience  of  the  joys  of  mountain- 
travel  as  far  greater  than  those  of  mere  climbing, 
bred  the  wish  to  undertake  a  journey  of  exploration 
in  the  mountains  of  Asia.  A  definite  plan  was  slow 
in  forming,  but  gradually  it  took  shape.  Others,  I 
found,  possessed  similar  ambitions.  The  first  idea  was 
that  Freshfield,  Mummery,  and  I  should  join  forces. 
I  find  a  note  in  my  diary  for  April  18th,  1891,  that  we 
three  had  a  meeting  at  the  Royal  Geographical  Society 
on  that  day,  and  agreed  to  come  together  at  Darjeeling 
on  the  10th  of  the  following  September  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attempting  the  ascent  of  Kinchinjanga.  A 
month  later  Freshfield  had  to  abandon  the  plan  for 
private  reasons,  but  Mummerj^  and  I  held  on,  though 
postponing  the  date  and  changing  the  venue  to  the 
other  end  of  the  Himalayan  range,  substituting  the 
great  "  K.  2  "  for  Kinchinjanga  as  the  goal  of  our 
ambition. 

The  best  fomi  of  equipment  for  mountain-travel 
was  investigated  and  reported  on  by  a  sub-committee 
of  the  Alpine  Club.  I  took  lessons  in  sun^eying,  etc., 
from  the  Geographical  Society's  teachers.  Prepara- 
tions and  studies  went  forward  during  the  whole  of 
the  year  1891.  In  the  summer  Mummery  and  I  agreed 
to  make  some  experimental  climbs  together,  and  to 
meet  for  the  purpose  in  the  Graians.  I  think  there 
must  have  been  some  talk  of  Harold  Topham  joining 


124  Motmtaiji  Memo7'ies 

our  Asiatic  party.  He  had  conducted  exploration  in 
Alaska.  At  all  events,  he  met  me  in  the  Alps,  and 
so  did  Ellis  Carr  and  some  others.  We  had  a  pre- 
liminary run  in  the  Valtournanche  district — Topham, 
Williams,  and  I  —  in  bad  weather.  All  went 
wrong,  and  we  were  ever  in  fog  and  storm.  Things 
culminated  one  day  somewhere  near  the  Vofrede 
glacier.  I  forget  what  peak  we  were  trying  to  climb, 
but  whatever  it  was  we  gave  it  up  in  disgust.  It 
suddenly  occurred  to  Williams  that  if  he  turned  down 
at  once  he  would  just  be  able  to  cross  the  St.  Theodule 
that  evening  and  catch  the  last  train  down  the  newly 
opened  railway  from  Zermatt  to  Visp,  which  would 
enable  him  to  reach  Liverpool  in  time  for  a  certain 
boat  sailing  for  New  York.  Off  he  went  in  great  haste. 
Topham  accompanied  him  to  the  valley.  I  descended 
to  Breuil,  and  there  met  Edward  Fitzgerald,  who  a 
few  years  later  explored  the  New  Zealand  Alps  and 
the  Andes  of  Aconcagua.  After  other  scrambles  our 
party  met  at  Aosta  and  crossed  Mont  Emilius  to  Cogne, 
whence  we  climbed  the  usual  peaks — Grivola,  Herbetet, 
Tour  de  St.  Pierre,  Grand  Paradis — expeditions  else- 
,where  often  described. 

Mummery  had  been  an  acquaintance  of  many  years. 
He  was  well  worth  knowing.  He  stands  out  among 
climbers  as  a  mountain  genius.  There  existed  between 
him  and  any  mountain  an  instinctive  understanding. 
He  knew  mountains  as  some  men  know  horses.  He 
seemed  born  to  climb  them,  though  physically  he  had 
not  the  aspect  of  an  athlete.  His  body  was  light  and 
slender.     He  suffered  from  some  weakness  of  the  spine, 


The  Call  of  the  East  125 

which  disabled  him  from  weight-carrying  but  did  not 
otherwise  impede  him.  His  limbs  were  long,  and  the 
extremities  extraordinarily  sensitive  and  serviceable. 
He  was  hke  a  spider  on  steep  rocks,  to  which  he  seemed 
to  adhere  by  magic.  He  was  tall,  and  could  outreach 
most  men  of  his  height.  It  jvas  enough  for  him  to 
have  support  with  a  toe  on  some  almost  invisible  in- . 
equahty  and  an  extended  finger  or  two  at  arm's  length 
over  some  little  crack  or  ledge;  thus  he  would  worm 
himself  upward.  He  had  great  muscular  strength  in 
arms  and  legs,  and  little  weight  of  body  for  them  to 
raise.  He  knew  by  instinct  or  long  experience  whether 
his  points  of  adhesion  w^ere  sufficient  for  momentary 
safety.  I  doubt  if  he  ever  slipped.  He  always  had 
complete  confidence.  Nothing  flurried  or  hurried  him. 
He  could  endure  any  amount  of  cold,  and  would 
sit  out  a  night  in  the  open  at  any  level.  He  would 
stay  in  bitter  frost  .waiting  where  he  happened  to 
be  till  daw^n  enabled  him  to  proceed.  Arrived  on  a 
summit  at  any  hour  of  the  afternoon,  he  would  adven- 
ture a  descent  by  an  untried  route  with  the  certainty 
of  being  benighted.  He  grasped  the  character  of  a 
whole  group  of  mountains  as  things  to  be  climbed  after 
a  couple  of  days'  experience.  Routes  new  or  old  were 
nothing  to  him.  He  took  his  own  way,  and  was  as 
capable  of  leading  as  the  best  of  guides.  He  ,was  full 
of  ingenuities  in  inventing  light  equipment,  and  was 
not  imposed  upon  by  tradition.  Thus  he  introduced 
the  use  of  a  very  thin  rope  of  excellent  quality  which 
most  climbers  thought  unorthodox.  Climbing  was 
what  he  enjoyed,  not  exploring.     He  cared  nothing 


126  Moimtam  Alemories 

about  the  geography  of  mountains,  and  was  bored  by 
sun^eying  and  photographing  instruments.  It  was  the 
sheer  joy  of  difficult  scrambhng  that  possessed  him. 
If  he  was  going  to  the  Himalayas  it  was  to  find  bigger 
and  harder  mountains  than  the  Alps  provided.  The 
more  I  knew  of  him  the  more  I  liked  him,  and  the 
more  evident  it  became  that  his  attitude  toward 
mountains  was  fundamentally  different  from  mine. 
The  plan  I  had  by  now  elaborated  was  for  a  mountain 
journey  through  the  unexplored  region  of  great  peaks 
and  glaciers  in  the  far  north  of  Kashmir.  I  wanted 
to  cover  as  much  ground  as  possible  and  to  find  out 
what  the  whole  district  was  like.  I  intended  to  take 
an  artist  along,  and  to  bring  back  such  a  sketch-survey 
as  circumstances  permitted,  to  make  scientific  collec- 
tions also,  and  to  engage  in  all  the  scientific  investiga- 
tions which  could  be  pursued  under  the  circumstances. 
Mummery  would  not  have  been  happy  in  such  a  party. 
He  wanted  all  the  time  to  be  given  to  finding  a  few 
big  mountains  and  climbing  them.  With  mutual 
respect  we  dissolved  our  proposed  partnership,  and 
decided  rightly.  On  my  return  from  the  East  he 
came  to  congratulate  me,  and  said  :  "  If  I  had  been 
with  you,  you  would  not  have  accomplished  half  as 
much."  I  think  it  was  true.  Never  was  there  a  more 
generous  man  nor  one  freer  from  cant.  I  have  failed 
in  this  attempt  to  characterise  him  if  I  have  not  left 
on  the  reader  the  impression  that  he  was  unusually 
intelligent  and  gifted.  Though  he  was  a  climber  of 
genius,  he  was  not  a  mere  climber.  He  was  full  of 
interest  in  interesting  things.     He  was  intellectually 


The  Call  of  the  East  127 

rather  than  aesthetically  well  endowed.  His  mind  jvas 
philosophical  and  at  home  in  the  abstract.  Problems 
of  political  economy  were  specially  attractive  to  him. 
He  approached  such  questions  with  the  same  freedom 
from  prejudice,  the  same  original  unfettered  freshness 
of  mind,  with  which  he  approached  a  mountain.  He 
was  not  concerned  with  old  routes  and  trodden  ways, 
intellectual  or  material.  He  would  always  find  his 
own  way,  and  progress  along  it  by  his  own  powers. 
Though  taking  reasonable  precautions,  he  loved  danger 
for  its  own  sake,  and  would  willingly  accept  a  margin 
of  unavoidable  risk.  Thus  it  was  that  when  he  jvent 
to  the  Himalayas  he  lost  his  life  on  Nanga  Parbat. 
He  took  a  risk  of  avalanches  which  in  the  mountains 
he  knew  would  have  been  small,  but  in  Asia,  .where 
avalanches  fall  at  least  fifty  times  oftener  than  in  the 
Alps,  was  almost  certain  to  end  in  catastrophe.  The 
finest  climber  of  his  or  any  preceding  generation  thus 
gave  up  his  life  on  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
mountains  in  the  world.  It  was  the  death  of  all  others 
he  would  have  chosen. 

The  remaining  months  of  the  year  1891  jvere 
entirely  devoted  to  the  organisation  of  my  expedition, 
purchase  and  packing  of  stores  and  equipment,  studies 
at  the  Geographical  Society  and  in  the  Natural  History 
Museum,  and  the  like  activities.  The  days  were  well 
filled.  The  most  important  requisite,  a  first-rat« 
guide,  was  happily  obtained  in  Mattias  Zurbriggen, 
of  Macuguaga,  who  is  now  recently  deceased.  He 
was  a  man  of  much  intelligence,  clever  with  his  hands 
at  almost  every  craft,   an  excellent  climber,   a  born 


128  Mountain  Memories 

adventurer.  Oscar  Eckenstein  joined  us  to  help  with 
the  equipment  and  on  the  mountain-side.  He  did  not 
come  with  me  beyond  Nagar.  Lieut. -Colonel  Lloyd 
Dickin  and  J.  H.  Roudebush  Hkewise  came  along  for 
the  first  part  of  the  journey,  the  former  intending  to 
stop  somewhere  and  shoot  ibex.  The  latter,  who  had 
no  particular  intentions,  was  a  perfect  joy  to  us  all 
as  long  as  he  could  be  persuaded  to  stay,  and  made 
himself  very  useful  in  getting  things  going ;  but  he 
was  not  a  climber.  When  we  took  to  the  snows  he 
returned  to  the  flesh-pots  of  Kashmir.  Our  great 
good  fortune  enlisted  Roudebush's  friend,  A.  D. 
McCormick,  as  artist  of  the  expedition.  The  excel- 
lence of  his  work  in  black  and  white  was  manifested 
in  the  published  record  of  the  expedition.  His  water- 
colour  drawings,  many  of  which  I  still  possess,  are 
even  more  remarkable,  and  when  exhibited  earned  for 
him  a  well-merited  reputation.  My  crowning  luck  was 
when  I  obtained  the  adhesion  of  Lieutenant  (now 
Brigadier-General)  the  Hon.  C.  G.  Bruce,  of  the  5th 
Gurkhas.  He  came  to  England  with  one  of  his  men, 
and  they  spent  a  week  or  two  in  November  at  Zermatt 
climbing  with  Zurbriggen.  They  were  the  first  who 
ever  used  putties  for  gaiters  in  the  Alps.  Zurbriggen 
afterwards  introduced  them  among  guides,  and  climbers 
followed  our  example.  In  India  four  Gurkhas  were 
attached  to  our  party.  Our  success  in  covering  as 
much  ground  as  we  did  was  largely  due  to  Bruce 's 
knowledge  of  the  country  and  to  the  ability  of  the 
Gurkhas  in  managing  the  coolies. 


CHAPTER   XII 

KASHMIR 

E  sailed  from  London  on  February  G,  and  were 
back  on  December  20,  1892.  The  full  story  of 
our  expedition  was  published  in  my  book,  "  Climbing 
and  Exploration  in  the  Karakoram  Himalayas."  I  do 
not  propose  to  re-tell  it  here  as  a  tale  of  adventure, 
but  only  to  refer  to  such  experiences  as  have  a  sub- 
jective interest  and  nurtured  that  romantic  ideal  the 
pursuit  of  which  is  the  subject  of  the  present  volume. 
Alpine  summers  had  for  a  dozen  years  or  more  so 
taken  their  normal  place  in  the  annual  rotation  of  my 
doings  that  they  had  ceased  to  surprise  or  reveal. 
Ecstasy  had  vanished  from  them.  Pleasure  survived, 
but  it  was  of  a  mild  and  expected  character.  My 
tour  in  the  Near  East  had  opened  a  new  window  into 
the  Kingdom  of  Romance,  and  I  was  dazzled  with 
the  vision.  We  grazed  Egypt  again  on  our  voyage, 
and  touched  the  outskirts  of  Arabia  at  Aden,  one 
of  the  most  romantic  ports  in  the  w^orld.  It  is  Uke 
a  town  in  the  crater  of  a  volcano.  Fantastic  rocks 
embattle  it.  Tunnels  unite  its  quarters.  Wild-look- 
ing Arabs  fresh  from  the  desert  throng  its  ways. 
Downpouring  sunlight  floods  it  as  with  fire. 

The  dead-calm  sea,  when  we  sailed  out  into  the 
Indian  Ocean,  was  shot  with  a  more  brilliant  phos- 
phorescence than  I  have  elsewhere  beheld.     The  bows 

129 


130  Moitntain  Memories 

of  the  steamer,  cleaving  the  water,  carried  on  either 
side  swans'  wings  of  bright  green  hght,  and  the 
spreading  wa\es  were  crested  with  it,  drifting  like 
smoke  down  their  backs.  Now  and  again  some  shark 
or  other  great  fish,  darting  away,  made  lightnings  in 
his  wake.  The  sea  was  inky  black,  but  the  light  from 
the  water  brilliant  enough  to  pale  our  faces. 

The  railroad  journey  of  two  days  from  Karachi  to 
Labor  was  full  of  interest  and  delight — many  sights 
beheld,  few  comprehended.  It  was  at  Labor  that  ^we 
first  really  felt  India.  The  impression  then  received 
was  abiding  and  is  fresh  in  memory  to-day.  It  was 
the  time  of  the  Holi  festival,  and  the  town  was 
thronged  with  folk  in  carmine-stained  garments  and 
turbans  of  all  colours  of  the  rainbow.  Strips  of  pink 
and  blue  cotton  waved  overhead  in  the  streets.  Dust 
caught  the  sunlight.  The  crowd  .was  quiet  in  its  move- 
ments, almost  silent.  Faces  were  grave,  melancholic, 
yet  there  was  brilliant  colour  everywhere  and  throng- 
ing life.  Where  Egypt  is  black  and  white,  India 
is  red  and  blue  and  green.  I  visited  mosques, 
tombs,  and  castle-like  forts.  They  were  infused  with 
antiquity.  The  signs  of  ancient  civilisation  were 
everywhere  displayed.  The  people  evidently  belonged 
to  an  ancient  race.  Countless  generations  were 
implied  in  the  living.  The  narrow  streets  were 
bordered  with  houses  irregularly  planted,  planned  in 
picturesque  disorder,  and  often  crazy  in  beautiful 
decay.  Poverty  in  such  surroundings  was  not  sordid 
nor  wealth  aggressive.  The  tombs  of  princes  were 
often  neglected,  the  houses  of  the  poor  well  enough 


Kashiiir  131 

cared  for.  The  .whole  effect  left  upon  my  mind  was 
like  that  of  a  tangled  skein  of  many-coloured  silks. 
All  was  pageant — people,  streets,  mosques,  palaces, 
tombs.  No  one  and  nothing  beheld  belonged  to  my 
world,  or  to  an  ugly  world.  All  floated  in  a  romantic 
atmosphere  in  which  the  impossible  might  become  true 
and  from  which  the  normal  w^as  banished. 

At  Abbottabad,  where  we  spent  upwards  of  a 
fortnight,  our  stores  and  equipment  were  re-packed 
into  loads,  when  they  had  at  last  been  delivered  by 
goods  train.  We  were  hospitably  entertained  in  a 
typical  Anglo-Indian  conomunity,  and  we  made  expe- 
ditions into  the  surrounding  hills,  which  resembled 
those  about  the  Italian  Lakes,  but  lacked  the  water. 
At  the  end  of  March  we  took  to  the  road,  and  so  in 
due  course  entered  Kashmir  and  boated  up  the  Jhelam 
to  Srinagar.  Nowadays  the  journey  is  swiftly  accom- 
plished by  motor.  It  took  us  four  days  of  rough 
travel  in  ekkas  by  road  and  two  by  boat.  Had  we 
travelled  faster  Kashmir  would  have  burst  upon  us ; 
by  our  slow  progression  it  was  gradually  disclosed. 
The  way  lay  along  rough  roads  over  high  hills,  then 
down  into  a  rugged  valley  and  along  the  side  of  the 
gorge  till  it  opened  out  into  the  great  basin  of 
Kashmir.  That  was  once  a  hill-surrounded  lake,  like 
Geneva's,  only  the  hills  are  bigger,  high  enough  to 
be  sno>v:-mountains  if  they  stood  in  the  latitude  of  the 
Alps.  Two  small  lakes  are  now  all  that  remain  of 
the  ancient  sheet  of  water.  We  embarked  on  one  of 
them  and  ascended  the  river  to  the  other,  the  Dal 
Lake,  which  hes  just  beyond  the  city.   We  also  made 


132  Motmtain  Memories 

an  expedition  farther  up  still  to  see  Martand  and 
other  ruined  temples,  monuments  of  old  days  when 
Buddhism  prevailed  in  the  land.  Thus  the  key-note 
of  Kashmir  to  me  >vas  water — the  river  and  the  lakes. 
We  lived  on  house-boats.  Srinagar  was  a  great  town 
of  wooden  houses  fronting  on  either  bank  of  the 
Jhelam.  They  looked,  and  in  many  cases  were,  old. 
A  quarter  of  the  town  was  burnt  later  in  the  year, 
soon  after  the  cholera  epidemic  which  decimated  the 
crowded  population.  We  felt  no  presage  of  this 
impending  doom.  All  was  gay  for  us  in  the  spring- 
time. The  river  fronts  of  the  city  resembled  Venice 
translated  into  wood,  fancifully,  even  fantastically, 
treated ;  but  some  of  the  buildings,  notably  the  Ham- 
madan  Mosque,  are  dignified  and  built  according  to 
a  fine  tradition.  All  over  the  lands  north  of  Kashmir, 
away  up  to  Central  Asia,  the  same  type  of  wooden 
architecture  for  mosques  prevails.  It  is  a  type  more 
ancient  than  Persepolis.  The  builders  of  Darius  and 
Xerxes  derived  from  it  the  forms  of  the  Achsemenian 
Palaces.  The  charm  of  Kashmir,  however,  is  not  in 
its  buildings,  but  in  its  waters  and  its  gardens.  There 
is  a  gaiety  in  the  air  unknown  in  the  pathetic  plains 
of  India.  The  roofs  of  the  houses  and  even  the  grave- 
yards were  sheets  of  blossoming  iris.  The  land  is 
everywhere  fertile  and  well- watered.  Peasants  ^vere 
intensively  cultivating  their  little  fields.  There  was 
life  on  all  hands.  Countless  villages  are  dotted  about, 
shaded  by  splendid  chinar  trees.  Long  processions  of 
huge  poplars  line  the  bank  near  the  city. 

The  Dal  Lake  is  the  heart  of  Kashmir.     Happy 


Kashmir  133 

indeed  were  the  days  we  spent  upon  it.  Its  surface 
for  us  was  always  calm,  whether  we  were  upon  it  or 
looking  down  on  it  from  the  temple-crowned  hill  just 
outside  the  city — a  view-point  central  to  the  vale  and 
commanding  the  whole  panorama  of  its  battlemented 
mountain- walls,  with  the  river  winding  in  seven  great 
silver  loops  across  the  green  plain,  and  the  city  and 
lake  map-spread  immediately  at  one's  feet.  On  the 
lake  itself  are  little  floating  gardens,  like  carpets,  and 
to  its  margin  there  stretch,  down  gentle  slopes,  the 
fine  formal  gardens  of  the  great  Mogul.  They  are 
built  in  terraces.  Each  terrace  bears  some  charming 
pavilion,  or  is  formally  planted  with  trees  and  divided 
by  water.  Water  flows  and  races  through  every 
garden,  leaping  into  sunlit  crystal  patterns  as  it  runs 
over  ribbed  marble  slabs,  or  plashing  into  marble 
basins,  or  running  in  wall-sided  channels.  The 
pavilions  look  down  upon  the  lake  across  gardened 
foregrounds.  They  look,  as  they  in  fact  once  were, 
fit  settings  for  song  and  dance  and  poetry.  Here 
Nur-Mahal  charmed  back  her  royal  lover  with  the 
magic  of  her  voice.  Love  has  nowhere  fashioned  for 
itself  a  more  perfect  setting,  and  we  were  there  in 
serene  April  weather  among  a  galaxy  of  flowers.  The 
time  and  the  place  were  all  that  could  be  wished,  but 
alas !  the  loved  ones  were  far  away !  Well  ahead  of 
the  climbing  season,  we  had  no  need  to  hasten  when 
each  day  was  more  beautiful  than  the  last,  but  after  a 
fortnight  we  had  been  luxurious  long  enough.  One 
evening  in  bright  moonlight  we  floated  down-stream 
through  the  magical  city  and  out  into  the  sleeping 


134  Moimtain  Memories 

vale  beyond.  Our  backs  were  soon  turned  to  the  last 
of  the  plains,  and  the  strenuous  days  of  the  mountain 
journey  began. 

The  first  pass  was  easy  and  low.  It  was  followed 
by  a  few  marches  along  pleasant  valleys  over  rough 
mule-tracks,  long  since  replaced  by  an  excellent  motor- 
ing road.  Thus  we  came  to  the  foot  of  the  Burzil 
Pass  (13,500  feet),  by  which  the  first  of  the  higher 
parallel  ranges,  the  true  Himalaya,  must  be  crossed. 
You  can  drive  over  that  also  now,  but  we  had  to  fight 
our  w^ay  over  it  in  deep  snow  and  a  raging  storm. 
From  the  plains  of  India  to  those  of  Central  Asia 
the  wide  intervening  tract  is  ridged  and  furro>ved  by 
parallel  ranges  and  valleys,  one  beyond  another. 
Rivers,  notably  the  Indus,  have  cut  across  these  by 
deep  gorges,  and  some  kind  of  path  has  generally 
been  fashioned  along  them,  but  it  often  happens  that 
a  range  can  be  more  easily  crossed  at  some  point  by 
a  pass  than  by  the  gorge.  To  lead  our  long  caravan 
of  coolies  in  safety  over  the  deep  snow  and  through 
the  dense  fog  was  no  easy  task.  Snow  had  been 
falling  heavily  for  days.  Avalanches  were  tumbling, 
and  larger  ones  were  to  be  expected.  We  had  been 
kept  stationary  for  the  best  part  of  a  week  awaiting 
a  chance  to  force  the  pass.  The  way  led  up  a  twisting 
white  trough,  enveloped  in  fog.  Every  step  was  toil- 
some. The  laden  men  tried  to  bolt,  or  cast  themselves 
on  the  ground  refusing  to  move.  It  was  a  dreary 
solitude.  Every  year  many  lives  used  to  be  lost  on 
this  route  for  lack  of  refuges.  To-day  it  is  safe 
enough.     It   was   past    noon   before   we   gained    the 


Kaslmiir  135 

summit,  black  night  when  at  length  we  reached  a 
miserable  hut  within  which  the  wearied  coolies  could 
shelter.  Our  tents  were  pitched  on  the  roof.  Every- 
where else  was  mud  and  slushy  snow.  A  more  tiring 
day  I  never  passed,  and  it  was  of  necessity  foodless. 
We  had  to  be  pushing  on  all  the  time.  In  another 
hour  we  must  have  lost  some  men  from  sheer  fatigue. 
Many  suffered  from  snow-blindness.  Thus  we  entered 
a  side-valley  of  the  Indus,  and  in  a  few  more  days 
reached  Astor. 

The  rain  that  falls  north  of  the  plains  of  India 
comes  from  the  south-west.  As  the  damp  air  meets 
the  hills  it  is  precipitated  upon  them.  Thus  the 
north-eastward  moving  flood  of  air  becomes  dried  to 
successively  higher  levels  as  it  passes  over  successively 
higher  ridges.  By  the  time  it  has  been  carried  beyond 
the  main  Himalayan  range  (which  we  had  just  crossed) 
it  is  dried  up  to  a  great  height.  Thenceforward  only 
the  highest  snow-peaks  reach  up  far  enough  to  cause 
further  precipitation,  which  falls  in  snow  upon  them 
and  them  alone.  North  of  the  Burzil  Pass  rain  falls 
in  rapidly  decreasing  amounts  into  the  valleys.  Thus 
every  day's  march  now  took  us  through  a  region  of 
diminishing  fertility.  At  Astor  the  wild  vegetation  is 
sparse  and  hardy ;  fields  to  produce  crops  must  be 
irrigated.  A  march  or  two  beyond  Astor  the  valleys 
become  deserts  of  sand,  stones,  and  rock,  where 
nothing  grows  that  is  not  watered  by  a  running  stream, 
natural  or  artificial. 

The  river  of  the  Astor  valley  joins  the  Indus 
through  a  deep  gorge,  along  which  no  path  runs.     I 


136  Mozmtam  Memories 

know  not  by  what  route  the  new  high-road  has  been 
engineered.  In  our  time  one  had  to  climb  over  a 
shoulder  10,000  feet  high,  whence  a  rapid  descent  led 
down  to  the  main  valley.  This  shoulder  is  called  the 
Hatu  Pir.  The  view  from  it,  to  one  coming  into  the 
world  of  the  great  mountains  for  the  first  time,  was 
an  overwhelming  revelation.  It  would  be  easy  here 
to  quote  the  description  written  on  the  spot,  but  I  am 
now  concerned  with  subjective  emotions  as  memory 
holds  them,  not  with  objective  facts.  The  Hatu  Pir 
was  one  of  the  culminating  stations  in  my  Pilgrimage 
of  Romance.  There,  as  in  Egypt,  as  at  Labor,  a  new- 
world  of  wonder  was  opened  for  me.  I  looked  in  at 
the  gate  through  which  the  onward  way  was  to  lead, 
and  the  sight  beheld  was  astounding  and  glorious. 
The  desert  and  the  mountains  I  already  loved  were 
here  united,  and  on  a  scale  visibly  stupendous.  Thus 
far  the  mountains  we  had  passed  had  been  seen  with 
eyes  that  did  not  comprehend  their  scale,  but  here  the 
enormity  of  things  was  unmistakable.  If  Nanga 
Parbat  be  thought  of  as  a  giant  kneeling  in  prayer, 
with  head  on  the  ground,  my  platform  was  upon  his 
heel  and  the  great  mass  of  him  rose  behind  me. 
Turning  round  to  the  left  I  could  look  into  the  Indus 
gorge  of  Chilas,  the  deepest  canon  in  the  world, 
24,000  feet  in  depth  from  the  crest  of  Nanga  Parbat 
to  the  river-bank,  one  steep,  unbroken  incline  of  snow 
and  rock.  Not  this  way,  however,  was  the  eye  caught 
and  riveted,  but  straight  ahead  northward,  where 
the  Indus  valley  came  toward  me  end-on.  It  was 
like  looking  lengthways  into  the  empty  hold  of  a  tre- 


Kashnir  137 

mendous  ship.  Below  was  the  flat  desert  with  the 
Indus'  mighty  torrent  looking  from  here  like  a  little 
rill,  cutting  through  the  floor.  Gigantic  cliffs  rose  on 
one  hand,  buttress  beyond  buttress  of  sloping  rock  on 
the  other.  Miles  and  miles  away  the  valley  bent  out  of 
sight  and  great  mountains  closed  it.  Two  tiny  patches 
of  irrigated  green  demonstrated  the  barrenness  of  all 
else.  It  was  an  overwhelming  view,  and  I  had  come 
upon  it  suddenly  round  a  corner.  The  world  has  seemed 
to  me  a  more  majestic  place  ever  since.  Moreover,  this 
was  no  landscape  of  the  moon,  but  one  long  associated 
with  man.  The  track  we  had  been  following  is  of 
extreme  antiquity.  It  must  have  been  traversed  by 
ancient  invaders  coming  down  from  the  north  time 
after  time,  by  Buddhist  pilgrims,  by  followers  of  Islam 
wdth  faces  set  toward  Mecca,  by  merchants  and 
travellers  from  earliest  days.  This  they  also  had  beheld. 
In  wonder  and  reverence  I  drank  in  the  vision.  Of  all 
the  sights  beheld  in  Asia  this  comes  back  oftenest  to  me 
and  remains  most  vivid. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SPRINGTIME   AMONG   THE    HIMALAYAS 

THE  following  months  were  to  be  spent  in  the  desert 
region  now  entered,  excepting  when  we  were  camp- 
ing at  high  levels  near  the  snow-line.  There  short  grass, 
dwarf  rhododendrons,  and  other  Alpine  vegetation  are 
encountered.  Such  were  the  upper  reaches  of  the 
Bagrot  valley  near  Gilgit,  to  the  exploration  of  which 
w^e  devoted  the  month  of  May,  too  early  a  season  for 
serious  climbing  at  very  high  levels.  It  was  a  pleasant 
interlude  and  the  scenery  was  fine  but  needs  no  descrip- 
tion here.  The  desert  valleys  cannot  be  so  briefly  dis- 
missed. If  the  first  vision  of  them  was  imposing,  they 
became  more  impressive  the  better  they  were  known. 
Where  there  is  an  oasis  of  irrigated  fields  there  is  like- 
wise a  village.  Sometimes  the  oases  follow  in  quick 
succession.  Generally  some  miles  separate  them.  The 
path  is  often  carried  along  the  face  of  precipices  or 
very  steep  slopes.  It  climbs  over  shoulders,  then 
plunges  to  the  torrent's  edge.  Beyond  Gilgit  it  was 
not  practicable  for  horses,  which  can  only  be  taken  into 
the  fastnesses  of  the  hills  in  winter  when  the  stream- 
beds  are  almost  dry.  Late  spring  and  early  summer 
are  the  dramatic  season.  The  sun's  heat  strikes  down 
into  the  shadeless  depths  with  fiery  force  and  gener- 
ates such  air  temperatures  as  110°  Fahrenheit  by  day. 
The  rivers  are  in  flood.     Snow  is  melting  aloft  with 

138 


springtime  amo7tg  the  Himalayas  139 

great  rapidity.  Avalanches  are  falling,  avalanches  of 
snow,  and,  more  wonderful  to  watch,  great  avalanches 
of  mud  and  rock  which  are  discharged  from  gully  after 
gully,  each  enormous.  One  such,  roughly  measured, 
would  have  filled  Trafalgar  Square  level  to  the  top  of 
the  roof  of  St.  Martin-in-the-Fields,  and  thousands 
of  them  were  discharged  about  the  same  time  over  the 
desert  mountain-area  of  Central  Asia.  The  thing 
emerged  from  a  wall-sided  narrow  gorge  and  debouched 
into  the  main  valley.  It  came  pulsating  in  rushes  and 
pauses.  The  sight  was  appalling.  Huge  rocks,  cot- 
tage-like in  size,  were  carried  down  in  its  slimy  mass 
like  corks.  It  bulged  and  twisted  in  its  gully  and 
roared  mightily.  On  every  hillside  stones  were  falling. 
Seracs  crashed  on  every  glacier.  Snow  in  vast  masses 
slid  off  every  slope.  As  many  as  a  score  of  avalanches 
would  fall  in  succession  at  intervals  of  less  than  a 
minute  over  a  single  cliff  at  the  same  point,  each  rolling 
down  in  the  core  of  an  enveloping  cloud  of  white  dust. 
It  was  a  marvellous  sight  to  behold  Rakipushi  from 
Bagrot  shaking  the  snow  off  his  flanks  after  a  storm, 
crash  following  crash,  the  cliffs  re-echoing. 

The  Hunza  valley  repeated  the  features  of  the 
Indus.  It  stretched  up  on  either  hand  to  peaks  about 
24,000  feet  in  height,  its  floor  being  some  5,000  feet 
above  sea-level.  One  could  stand  down  there  and  have 
both  peaks  visible  at  once.  After  marching  along  the 
base  of  a  mountain  for  three  or  four  days  its  magnitude 
becomes  apparent  even  to  the  eye.  Once  that  is  tuned 
to  the  right  scale  the  majesty  of  this  great  scenery  is 
apparent.     It  grew  upon  us  from  day  to  day  but  never 


140  Motmtam  Meinories 

became  familiar.  The  people  of  the  valley  were  an 
interesting  community.  They  had  dwelt  for  centuries 
in  practical  isolation  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  cut  off 
abo\e  and  all  round  by  mountains  and  below  by  a  gorge 
most  difficult  to  traverse  and  very  easy  to  defend. 
Their  livelihood  depended  on  irrigation.  The  largest 
piece  of  culti^'able  land  about  this  little  town  of 
Hunza  is  watered  by  a  canal  carried  across  cliffs  by  a 
bold  piece  of  ancient  engineering  and  onlj^  maintained 
by  constant  vigilance.  The  little  fields  are  actually 
built  on  countless  terraces  against  the  mountain-side. 
If  a  comnumity  was  to  support  itself  under  such  con- 
ditions it  needed  to  be  well  organised.  Life  had  to 
be  according  to  rule.  All  the  world  over  irrigation 
communities  are  similar.  They  cannot  exist  except 
under  settled  and  orderly  conditions.  When  popula- 
tion in  Hunza  increased  to  the  bare  subsistence  level 
a  bad  season  involved  either  starvation  or  a  raid.  Thus 
from  time  to  time  Hunzakuts  made  themselves  un- 
pleasantly known  to  the  nearest  communities  by  forays 
in  search  of  food.  Remarkable  expeditions  carried  out 
by  them  over  mountain  passes  are  recorded.  Recur- 
ring famines  made  them  dangerous  neighbours.  They 
were  also  jealous  of  foreigners.  It  became  necessary 
in  the  interests  of  the  people  of  Gilgit,  which  belonged 
to  Kashmir,  to  put  an  end  to  Hunza  raids.  An  ex- 
pedition had  entered  their  country  six  months  before 
my  visit  and  annexed  it  after  a  very  sporting  little 
campaign  which  had  left  no  ill-feeling  behind  it. 
Money  was  flowing  into  the  valley ;  good  mule-paths 
were  being  made,  bridges  built ;  the  fear  of  famine  was 


springtime  among  the  Himalayas  141 

gone  for  ever.  We  had  excellent  relations  with  this 
interesting  people.  They  believed  themselves  to  have 
descended  from  Alexander  the  Great's  army.  They 
were  rich  in  legends  and  fairy  lore.  They  played  polo 
for  us,  danced  before  us  in  acted  drama,  carried  our 
loads,  sat  around  our  camp  fires,  and  perfectly  matched 
the  scenery. 

The  little  Rajadom  of  Nagar  filled  the  upper  part  of 
the  valley.  Its  raja,  like  him  of  Hunza,  lived  in  a 
massively- walled  stone  castle,  thoroughly  mediaeval  in 
aspect.  We  followed  this  valley  to  its  head,  which  the 
Hispar  glacier  fills,  passing  through  one  considerable 
group  of  villages  with  a  comparatively  large  area  of 
cultivation,  isolated  by  difficult  ways  from  Nagar  and 
from  everywhere  else  by  glaciers  and  the  great  moun- 
tains. What  gave  this  green  expanse  a  peculiar  aspect 
was  the  fact  that  it  was  the  very  mould  of  a  great 
glacier.  There  were  its  enormous  moraines  some  500 
feet  high,  and  there  its  site  of  greater  expansion  higher 
up.  Replace  the  grass  by  an  ice  river  and  the  thing 
was  complete,  yet  no  shrunken  remnant  of  it  remained. 
It  had  all  gone  back  up  a  side  valley  and  slunk  away 
round  a  distant  corner.  W^here  glaciers  are  so  vast 
their  advances  and  retreats  cover  big  areas  of  ground. 
A  couple  of  marches  farther  on  we  came  to  a  village 
served  by  many  water  mills,  one  below  another  along- 
side of  a  torrent.  Since  1892  some  glacier,  not  at  that 
time  even  visible,  has  advanced  and  overwhelmed  village 
and  mills  under  a  hundred  feet  of  ice.  Everything  is 
catastrophic  in  these  great  mountains.  Sometimes  a 
whole  hillside  falls  into  a  valley  and  dams  it  across.     A 


142  Mountain  Memories 

lake  forms  behind  it  and  fills  to  the  brim,  then  over- 
flows and  cuts  down  the  dam.  Presently  it  bursts  and 
the  lake  is  discharged  at  once,  pouring  down  the  valley 
and  sweeping  away  every  village  in  its  path.  Such 
sudden  floods  have  filled  the  Indus  and  rushed  forth 
into  the  North  Indian  plain,  unexpected  there.  One 
of  them  overwhelmed  an  encamped  army  a  century  or 
two  ago  and  utterly  wiped  it  out. 

The  Himalaya  and  mountains  behind  it  are  not  like 

the  Alps,  a  relatively  settled  range.     They  are  young 

ranges,  jutting  up  in  crude  perpendicularity  into  the 

sky  and  rapidly  disintegrating  under  the  action  of  hot 

sunshine,  cold  frost,  and  heavy  snowfalls.     In  time  the 

sharp  peaks  will  be  blunted,  the  chffs  sloped  back,  the 

valleys  filled,   and  a  much  lower  and  more  rounded 

group  of  mountains  will  take  their  place.     Now  they 

are  in  the  early  and  dramatic  stage  of  their  existence. 

That  is  why  they  are  so  very  lofty  and  ,why  the  peaks 

are  so  precipitous.     Every  mountain  in  the  Alps  can 

be  climbed.     It  is  rare  to  find  a  high  Himalayan  peak 

which  is  even  problematically  climbable.     This  is  hard 

doctrine  for  the  ordinary  Alpine  climber  who  thinks 

the  word  inaccessible  should  be  abolished  in  application 

to  mountains.    We  started  our  journey  thus  prejudiced, 

but  experience  soon  changed  our  view.     By  this  time 

we  had  begun  to  look  out  for  some  peak  of  reasonable 

size  that  seemed  worth  attempting.     Outlyers  might 

be  climbed,  but  none  of  the  great  mountains  thus  far 

beheld   offered   us    a    chance    of    success.     Moreover, 

everything  was  new  to  us,  and  we  were  utterly  at  sea 

as  to   weather  conditions.     We   had   been   told   that 


springtime  among  the  Himalayas  143 

throughout  summer  unbroken  fine  weather  was  certain. 
This  is  true  of  the  valleys,  as  explained  above,  but  not 
of  the  high  peaks.  They  rise  into  the  region  of  air  still 
laden  w4th  moisture  and  are  in  the  focus  of  constantly 
recurring  storms  of  which  the  dwellers  below  have  no 
perception.  All  they  see  is  cloud  upon  the  peaks. 
They  little  imagine  the  unchained  rage  of  the  elements 
thus  hidden.  As  these  facts  were  slowly  borne  in  upon 
us  they  added  cumulatively  to  that  sense  of  power, 
grandeur  and  mystery  which  the  first  sight  of  the  inner 
mountain  region  had  conveyed.  The  insignificance 
and  transitoriness  of  man  was  obvious  in  such  a 
presence.  If  he  had  been  in  our  place,  would  not  the 
Psalmist  have  written  :  ' '  When  I  behold  the  great 
mountains  in  the  day  of  their  power,  w^hat  is  man?  " 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE    mSPAR    PASS 

OUR  first  great  undertaking  was  not  to  climb  a  high 
mountain,  but  to  discover  and  cross  a  long  snow 
pass  which  was  believed  to  exist.  Near  the  point  we  had 
now  reached  the  snout  of  a  great  glacier  was  vaguely 
marked  upon  the  map.  Some  eighty  miles  away  in 
Baltistan  the  snout  of  another  glacier  was  likewise 
mapped.  The  two  stretched  backward  convergently 
into  the  heart  of  the  unexplored  snow  region,  and 
tradition  asserted  that  Nagar  people  had  gone  up  one 
glacier  and  come  down  the  other  to  the  village  of 
Askoley  near  its  foot.  Such  traditions  in  the  Himalaya 
are  untrustworthy.  I  investigated  many,  equally 
firmly  believed  but  utterly  false.  It  was,  therefore, 
in  doubt  and  trepidation  that  I  approached  the  foot  of 
the  first  glacier,  the  Hispar.  Its  huge  black,  broken 
snout  bulged  into  view,  pouring  forth  a  dirty  river  and 
continually  tumbling  rocks  into  it.  On  either  hand 
were  ranges  of  mountains  evidently  stretching  back 
far  and  straight,  but  between  them  all  was  hidden  by 
the  glacier's  own  mountainous  end. 

I  climbed  a  thousand  feet  or  so  up  the  valley  side 
to  reconnoitre.  It  was  a  dull  afternoon.  A  level  grey 
pall  of  cloud  roofed  in  the  ranges  high  aloft.  Coming 
out  on  a  shoulder  of  a  commanding  buttress  I  suddenly 

confronted  the  great  Hispar  glacier  and  beheld  it  in  its 

144 


The  Hispir  Pass  145 

whole  forty  miles  of  length  at  one  glance  from  its  black, 
stone-covered  end  to  the  wide  white  pass  at  its  head.  I 
think  it  was  the  most  solemn  view  I  ever  beheld.  The 
valley  is  extraordinarily  straight.  Down  it  in  the 
direction  from  which  we  had  come  the  mountains 
beyond  Hunza  were  visible  fifty  miles  away.  Forward, 
beyond  our  pass,  there  were  greater  mountains  peeping 
over  at  a  distance  from  us  of  at  least  sixty  miles.  It 
must  be  a  rare  occasion  when  one  can  stand  nearly  at  the 
bottom  of  a  valley  and  command  a  total  length  of  view 
of  upwards  of  one  hundred  miles.  For  once  the  distance 
beheld  looked  its  true  dimensions.  I  should  have 
guessed  it  at  that  without  the  map  to  help.  Backward 
one  glanced ;  it  was  forward  that  one  gazed,  not  merely 
because  fate  lay  in  that  direction,  but  overwhelmed  by 
the  rapture  of  the  scene.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  highway 
into  another  world  with  which  man  had  nothing  to  do. 
It  might  lead  into  a  land  of  dragons,  or  giants,  or 
ghosts.  The  very  thought  of  man  vanished  in  such 
surroundings,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  animal  life. 
The  view  was  like  seen  music.  Nowhere  was  there  a 
bright  patch  of  sunshine.  The  low^er  half  of  the  glacier 
was  densely  blanketed  over  with  stones,  grey,  brown, 
or  black.  The  vast  snowfields  beyond  were  all  a  pallid 
grey.  Nothing  glittered.  Silence  was  only  broken  by 
a  faint  hum  of  moving  waters.  No  stone  stirred.  No 
avalanche  fell.  All  appeared  still  as  death,  and  I  sat 
motionless  an  hour  or  more  and  felt  as  though  time  had 
ceased. 

On  July  11  we  started  up  the  great  glacier.     Three 
days  later  we  sent  half  our  caravan  southward  over  the 


146  Motmtain  Memories 

Nushik  Pass  to  meet  us  at  Askoley.  On  Jiilj^  18  our 
main  caravan  reached  the  summit  of  the  Hispar  Pass 
(17,050  feet).  The  journey  had  been  difficult  for  laden 
coolies,  but  we  had  no  casualties  and  no  desertions.  The 
actual  col  was  beyond  a  vast  inclined  plain  of  snow,  and 
it  seemed  long  before  we  could  look  over  the  other  side 
and  estimate  our  chances  of  descent.  At  last  the  fore- 
ground fell  away  and  the  unknown  was  revealed. 
Another  wonderful  and  wholly  novel  kind  of  view  smote 
upon  our  vision.  What  w^e  beheld  was  a  great  flat  lake 
of  snow,  surrounded  and  embayed  by  mountains  all  of 
snow  and  rock.  There  was  not  a  patch  of  grass-alp 
anywhere  visible,  nothing  but  the  elemental  skeleton 
of  the  world.  Arms  of  the  lake  reached  back  into 
recesses  between  capes  and  buttresses  of  the  peaks; 
and  branches  vanished  behind  corners,  but  the  visible 
extent  was  wide  enough.  To  our  dismay  no  outlet 
was  visible.  Reason  told  us  that  one  must  exist,  but 
the  eye  could  not  discover  it,  though  we  guessed  where 
it  might  be. 

Before  actually  reaching  the  pass  I  had  halted  awhile 
to  survey  for  the  last  time  the  valley  and  glacier  we  had 
mounted.  What  a  glorious  view  it  was !  The  snow- 
field,  cut  across  by  the  curved  outlines  of  deep  crevasses, 
showing  near  their  lips  just  a  suggestion  of  blue, 
dropped  steeply  aw^ay  from  our  feet,  leaving  for  fore- 
ground a  single  tower  of  ice  fringed  with  icicles  and 
tinted  blue  on  its  steepest  face.  From  the  foot  of  the 
first  slope  the  glacier  swept  grandly  away  in  the  grace- 
fullest  curves,  turning  one  jutting  headland  after 
another  and  then  putting  on  its  dark  cloak  of  moraine 


The  Hispar  Pass  147 

and  vanishing  beneath  it.  On  either  hand  .was  a  long 
line  of  peaks,  stretching  arms  down  to  the  glacier  and 
rearing  rugged  crests  proudly  aloft.  The  sky  was  clear 
and  calm.  There  was  not  a  movement  in  the  air.  Far 
off  one  tiny  cloud,  alone  in  the  blue,  floated  motionless. 
The  mountain  avenue  hence  beheld  draws  its  long 
length  away  for  a  hundred  miles. 

On  all  this  we  turned  our  backs.  A  few  paces  down 
the  slope  beyond  the  col  Nagar,  Hunza,  and  the  Hispar 
glacier  were  utterly  hidden.  Little  cared  we.  The 
watershed  was  passed ;  we  were  descending  into  Bal- 
tistan,  to  us  unknown,  and  the  entry  to  it  was  invested 
with  a  magnificence  scarcely  to  be  surpassed  by  any 
scenery  in  the  world.  Arrived  on  the  floor  of  the  snow- 
lake,  its  wide  gateway  of  discharge  was  soon  revealed 
to  us.  The  rocky  arm  of  a  peak  thrust  forth  had  hidden 
it  from  above ;  once  round  the  end  of  the  arm  we  could 
look  straight  down  another  glacier,  wider  than  the 
Hispar  and  as  long,  like  it  also  leading  majestically 
to  inhabited  regions.  It  is  called  the  Biafo,  and 
debouches  in  the  Braldu  valley  near  Askoley.  We 
camped  beside  the  portal  of  the  lake  and  next  day 
adventured  away  out  upon  its  surface.  The  immense 
width  of  the  snowfield  could  only  be  grasped  by  walking 
over  it.  The  surface  had  but  an  imperceptible  inclina- 
tion. It  was  unbroken  by  rift  or  crevasse  and 
unspotted  by  rock  or  dust.  The  snow  that  melted  in 
the  hot  sunshine  of  the  day  saturated  the  surface  and 
made  it  a  wet  sponge  into  which  we  sank  almost  to 
the  knee.  As  the  foot  was  withdrawn  the  hole  left  by 
the  leg  instantly  filled  with  ice-cold  water.     We  waded 


148  AIo2intaiii  Memories 

thus  hour  after  hour  in  intense  discomfort,  as  five  years 
later  Garwood  and  I  were  to  wade  through  similar 
snow-slush  on  the  glaciers  of  Spitsbergen.  I  have  only 
encountered  a  like  unpleasant  experience  in  the  Alps 
at  one  place — out  on  the  flat  area  where  the  three  great 
branches  of  the  Aletsch  glacier  meet  near  the  Concordia 
hut.  The  wide  level  snowfield  of  the  Biafo  at  the  outlet 
of  the  snow-lake  is  floor  to  a  glorious  avenue  of  peaks. 
They  rise  on  both  sides  of  the  glacier  for  some  fifteen 
miles,  one  beyond  another,  a  series  of  spires,  needle 
sharp,  walled  about  with  precipices  on  which  no  snow 
can  rest,  and  separated  from  one  another  by  broken 
couloirs,  wherein  tottering  masses  of  snow  are  for  a 
while  arrested  till  each  in  turn  is  dislodged  and  falls 
with  an  overwhelming  crash  on  the  slopes  far  below. 
The  aiguilles  of  Chamonix  possess  an  impetuosity  of 
outline  that  impresses  every  spectator,  but  these  Braldu 
pikes  outjut  them  in  steepness,  outnumber  them  a 
hundred,  perhaps  a  thousandfold  in  multitude,  and 
outreach  them  in  size.  The  highest  of  them  flings  its 
daring  summit  more  than  23,000  feet  into  the  air  and 
looks  abroad  over  a  field  of  mountains  unsurpassed  in 
the  world  for  grandeur.  I  named  this  peak  the  Ogre. 
Another  party  that  some  years  later  followed  my  foot- 
steps in  the  reverse  direction  discourteously  tried  to 
alter  the  name  to — I  forget  what ! 

By  great  good  luck  we  were  blessed  evening  after 
evening  with  beautiful  sunsets,  no  two  alike,  but  all 
glorious.  The  valley  trended  toward  the  south-east  so 
that  the  mountain  wall  alongside  and  the  peaks  that 
closed  the  vista  at  the  glacier's  end  were  dyed  with  the 


The  Hispar  Pass  149 

effulgence  of  the  foundering  sun.  On  one  occasion  a 
breaking  wave  of  cloud  curled  over  all  the  battlements 
of  the  Ogre's  ridge,  when  rocks  and  mist  were  like 
molten  gold.  Presently  the  gulf  of  the  valley  was 
inundated  with  purple,  while  the  mountains  rising  at 
its  end,  barred  with  beds  of  cloud,  were  grey  against  a 
sky  of  incredible  blue  which  melted  higher  up  to  red 
and  faded  into  a  violet  zenith. 

The  glacier  remained  of  purest  ice  for  more  than 
half  its  length.  Crevasses  and  moulins  penetrating  its 
substance  shimmered  to  their  depths  with  all  tones  of 
transparent  blue.  Blue  also  were  the  beds  of  the  sur- 
face streams  that  often  wandered  long  distances  be- 
tween high  ice-banks  before  plunging  thunderously 
out  of  sight.  Somewhat  more  than  half-way  down 
conditions  changed.  The  valley  narrowed  and  the 
slope  steepened.  The  compressed  ice  was  wedged  up 
in  longitudinal  ridges,  thinning  into  walls,  while  at  the 
same  time  the  whole  surface  undulated  in  transverse 
waves  which  steadily  increased  in  size  as  we  advanced, 
presenting  steep  fronts  upstream  and  long  slopes 
downward.  Moraines  now  invaded  more  and  more  of 
the  surface  till  only  the  walls  of  compression  stood  up 
out  of  the  stone-covering ;  crevasses  became  impedi- 
ments ;  glacier  tables  multiplied  like  a  field  of  giant 
mushrooms.  We  were  driven  from  the  glacier  to  the 
bank  and  from  the  bank  to  the  glacier.  Streams  had 
to  be  waded.  Minor  difficulties  multiplied.  The  last 
day  we  struggled  over  a  huge  moraine  that  buried  the 
glacier  under  a  great  depth  of  unstable  debris,  large 
and  small.     It  was  a  pleasure  to  leave  this  laborious' 


150  Mountain  Memories 

area  behind  and  to  tread  at  last  the  floor  of  the  Braldu 
valley  where  Biafo's  river  presently  joined  that  which 
discharges  the  drainage  of  the  huge  basins  of  the 
Baltoro  and  Pimmah  glaciers.  A  few  miles'  walking 
and  a  scramble  over  a  cliff,  whose  base  is  washed  by 
the  broad  and  raging  torrent,  brought  us  to  a  shady 
camping-ground  in  the  recondite  valley  of  Askoley. 
In  years  to  come,  if  ever  this  mountain  group, 
supremely  magnificent  among  all  the  mountain  groups 
in  the  world,  is  made  accessible  to  the  travelling  public, 
Askoley  will  be  its  Zermatt.  I,  for  one,  hope  that  it 
may  long  be  spared  that  fate.  Now  it  is  only  accessible 
with  extreme  difficulty  by  any  route,  as  all  the  valleys 
that  lead  to  it  are  gorges  and  all  the  passes  that  avoid 
them  are  high  and  not  easy. 

Eleven  days  had  been  spent  halting  beside  or 
descending  the  Biafo  from  the  pass  to  Askoley.  So 
far  as  mere  walking  was  concerned  the  expedition  could 
have  been  accomplished  in  two  days,  but  the  difficulty 
was  to  advance  at  all,  to  tear  oneself  away  from  the 
supreme  splendours  of  this  incomparable  region.  The 
scenery  of  the  Hi  spar  possesses  imposing  amplitude ; 
its  attendant  mountains,  very  lofty,  stand  each  at  the 
head  of  a  side  glacier  of  some  length  tributary  to  the 
main  ice-river.  But  the  peaks  of  Biafo  on  the  east 
side  rise  fairly  plumb  at  the  glacier's  edge  and  are 
besides  of  a  more  precipitous  character  and  fringed 
aloft  with  uncounted  spires.  Hispar  might  have 
seemed  tame  after  Biafo.  As  I  look  back  upon  some 
thirty  seasons  of  climbing  in  various  parts  of  the  world 
I  can  remember  none  which  produced  upon  me  the 


The  Hispar  Pass  151 

abiding  impression  that  I  carried  away  from  the  Biafo 
valley.  The  days  spent  there  were  enchanted. 
Romance  almost  became  a  reality.  The  gods  were 
very  near  at  hand.  We  touched  as  it  were  the  skirts 
of  their  garments.  Yet  even  at  the  culminating 
moments  of  these  strenuous  dream-days  there  still 
lingered  the  sense  of  incompleteness,  of  something 
lacking.  The  secret  was  almost  disclosed,  but  never 
quite,  the  veil  never  entirely  withdrawn.  Alas  !  The 
Vedic  poet  was  eternally  right ;  ' '  Him  that  created 
these  things  thou  shalt  never  know.  Something  else 
stands  between  thee  and  Him.  Enveloped  in  mist  and 
with  faltering  voice  the  poet  moves  along,  rejoicing 
in  life."  We  did  indeed  rejoice  in  life  in  enviable 
fullness,  but  the  heavenly  vision  remained  always  a 
little  misty,  and  words  failed  me  then  and  fail  me  now 
to  tell  the  hundredth  part  of  the  glories  I  beheld,  or 
the  millionth  part  of  those  that  clear  eyes  and  a  heart 
perfectly  attuned  might  have  comprehended.  Some- 
thing else  was  always  there  standing  between  me  and 
Him.  Must  it  ever  be  so?  Is  the  veil  never  to  be 
rent?  Is  the  Land  of  Romance  always  just  beyond, 
just  within  the  door  over  whose  threshold  we  can  never 
step?  Such,  apparently,  are  the  limitations  of  the 
hvi ng ;  but  for  this  once,  at  least,  I  stood  close  to  the 
threshold  with  the  door  ajar. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE     BALTORO 

ON  July  31  we  quitted  Askoley  to  explore  the  Baltoro 
glacier  and  to  search  for  and  climb  some  high  peak 
near  its  head.  We  were  back  again  on  September  5. 
During  the  whole  of  that  time  supplies  had  to  be 
carried  with  us  on  the  backs  of  coolies  over  ground 
almost  continuously  difficult  and  always  laborious. 
Askoley  is  10,860  feet  above  sea-level.  Our  highest 
camp  was  approximately  at  20,000  feet.  The  distance 
as  the  crow  flies  between  the  village  and  the  farthest 
point  reached  is  about  fifty  miles. 

The  lower  part  of  the  Baltoro  glacier  was  not 
entirely  unknown.  It  had  been  traversed  by  Godwin- 
Austen  and  by  Younghusband.  I  had  had  the  advan- 
tage of  long  talks  with  both  and  knew  pretty  well  the 
kind  of  w^ork  awaiting  us.  The  handohast  or  organisa- 
tion of  supplies  was  complicated,  involving  much  detail. 
Arrangements  made  worked  so  well  that  even  the  mails 
were  delivered  regularly  at  our  camp  up  to  a  height  of 
18,000  feet.  We  drove  a  flock  of  sheep  and  goats  to  the 
last  grass,  whence  coolies  day  by  day  brought  milk, 
fresh  butter,  meat  and  fuel  to  wherever  our  tents  were 
pitched.  Not  a  single  casualty  occurred  to  any  of  them 
during  the  whole  expedition. 

The  journey  to  the  foot  of  the  glacier  took  four  days 
and  involved  many  difficulties.     The  sheep  and  goats 

152 


The  Baltoro  153 


and  all  the  loads,  103  in  number,  had  to  be  carried 
over  a  crazy  rope-bridge — a  very  slow  process  when  only 
one  man  could  be  allowed  on  it  at  a  time.  There  were 
also  several  streams  to  be  waded,  rushing  torrents  with 
beds  of  rolling  rocks.  One  was  only  just  fordable  by 
the  aid  of  a  rope  stretched  across  for  support  against 
the  weight  of  water.  It  was  an  insignificant  brook 
when  we  camped  near  its  bank  one  evening  and  might 
have  been  crossed  with  utmost  ease,  but  during  the 
night  a  glacier-lake  must  have  burst  and  flooded  it,  for 
in  the  morning  it  was  more  than  a  hundred  yards  wide 
and  in  places  over  waist-deep.  The  crossing  filled  five 
hours  with  hard  work.  Not  long  after  it  had  been 
safely  accomplished  the  torrent  ran  dry !  The  valley 
traversed  was  mainly  a  desert  with  an  oasis  or  two, 
apparently  once  cultivated.  There  was  also  the  aban- 
doned settlement  of  gold- washers.  When  the  snout 
of  the  Baltoro  glacier  appeared  it  proved  to  be  larger 
even  than  those  of  Biafo  and  Hispar  and  covered  by 
a  more  mountainous  load  of  moraine  than  either.  Falls 
of  ice  from  the  end  into  the  issuing  torrent  were  almost 
arctic  in  size  and  made  camping  near  the  river  bank 
dangerous,  for  the  waves  of  the  splashes  washed  up  to 
a  height  of  ten  feet  or  more,  and  one  of  them  nearly 
carried  the  Gurkhas'  tent  away. 

The  scenery  was  not  striking  till  the  glacier  was 
reached;  I  even  called  the  Braldu  valley  in  this  part 
ugly.  Some  peaks  of  notable  form  stand  as  doorposts 
to  the  world  of  ice  where  it  is  entered,  but  it  was  not 
till  we  had  advanced  a  few  days'  journey  up  the  glacier 
that  its   wonders  began  to   be   revealed.     The   route 


154  Moti7itam  Memories 

tra\ersed  during  the  first  two  marches  led  along  a 
monstrous  trough  with  cliffs  on  one  hand  and  craggy 
slopes  and  ridges  on  the  other.  These  were  the  knees 
of  greater  mountains  and  hid  all  the  higher  and  nobler 
parts  from  our  sight.  After  the  second  day  the  glacier 
widened  and  the  giant  peaks  began  to  be  revealed. 
Let  it  be  understood  that  the  surroundings  of  the  basin 
of  the  Baltoro  are  in  fact  the  most  stupendous  in  the 
world.  Gaurisankar  (Everest)  alone  is  higher  than 
K.2.,  Kinchin janga  almost  as  high,  but  both  consider- 
ably surpass  their  neighbours  in  altitude,  whereas  K.2. 
is  only  one  of  a  group  of  vast  peaks  whose  average 
height  is  much  greater  than  that  of  any  other  assem- 
blage of  mountains  on  the  surface  of  the  earth.  K.2., 
the  Broad  Peak,  Gusherbrum,  the  Hidden  Peak,  and 
Masherbrum  are  all  mountains  of  from  26,000  to  28,000 
feet.  Their  satellites  over  23,000  feet  high  are  too 
numerous  to  be  counted.  All  these  peaks  rise  from 
the  Baltoro  glacier  and  are  visible  from  its  higher 
reaches.  The  broad  simplicity  of  the  Hispar  and  the 
trenchlike  grandeur  of  Biafo  cannot  be  compared  wdth 
the  overwhelming  magnificence  of  the  upper  Baltoro, 
but  that  is  only  disclosed  gradually  and  after  days  of 
toilsome  struggle.  It  was  indeed  fortunate  for  me  that 
I  chanced  to  take  them  in  the  best  order.  Had  the 
Baltoro  come  first  perhaps  the  other  two  would  have 
been  less  impressive. 

I  forget  during  how  many  marches  we  toiled  over 
the  monstrous  moraine  covering  or  along  the  right  bank 
of  the  glacier.  Could  we  have  seen  over  the  bulging 
centre  to  the  left  side  we  should  have  discovered  the 


The  Baltoro  155 


much  easier  way  there  which  .we  used  in  our  descent. 
We  had  to  take  things  as  they  came.  Nothing  exceeds 
in  toilsomeness  such  ground.  The  rocks  lying  about 
were  large  and  all  were  loose,  they  were  piled  into 
mounds  or  waves.  We  must  always  be  going  up 
or  down.  There  were  quantities  of  lakes  on  the  ice 
to  be  circumvented  and  glacier  streams  with  vertical 
ice-banks  to  be  crossed.  You  cannot  wade  these 
streams,  for  their  floor  is  smooth  ice  and  the  current 
.would  instantly  sweep  you  away  on  such  slippery 
footing.  You  must  travel  alongside  till  you  find  an 
overhanging  place  that  can  be  jumped.  This  makes 
the  route  tantalisingly  circuitous.  You  are  frequently 
forced  to  go  in  an  undesired  direction,  it  may  be  a  mile 
out  of  your  way — a  serious  matter  w^hen  a  whole  day's 
march  for  coolies  over  such  ground  may  not  be  more 
than  three  miles. 

About  twenty  miles  from  the  foot  of  the  glacier  we 
made  a  couple  of  expeditions  up  its  north  bank  to  a 
peak  and  a  saddle  each  over  18,000  feet  high,  relatively 
trifling  elevations  amid  such  surroundings.  K.2.'s 
summit  was  still  some  10,000  feet  higher,  rising  as 
much  above  us  as  Monte  Rosa  above  Zermatt.  The 
purpose  of  these  climbs  was  to  reconnoitre  K.2.,  but 
they  revealed  only  its  summit  heaving  above  an  inter- 
vening ridge.  We  were  not,  however,  unrewarded, 
for  we  could  at  last  look  up  and  down  the  huge  glacier 
and  across  it  to  the  wide  and  splendid  north  face  of 
Masherbrum.  Thus  displayed,  that  mountain  is 
perhaps  the  finest  I  have  ever  seen  and  the  most  uncom- 
promisingly   inaccessible.       Imagine    a    snow-draped 


156  Moimtain  Memories 

pyramid  like  the  Weisshorn  lifted  far  aloft  on  a  wide- 
spreading  foundation  of  splintered  buttresses  fringed 
with  rows  of  aiguilles,  large  and  small,  in  countless 
multitude.  The  sides  of  the  ridges  are  grooved  like 
corduroy  with  avalanche  tracks.  Between  the  ridges 
are  hanging  glaciers,  and  larger  glacier  arms  deeply 
penetrate  the  mass.  The  ridges  are  all  parallel  and  of 
like  gracefully  curved  outline.  One  beyond  another 
they  sweep  down  to  the  Baltoro  and  form  a  perfect 
composition  like  the  feathers  of  an  eagle's  extended 
wing.  It  is  an  exceptionally  fine  example  of  mountain 
architecture,  a  natural  composition,  almost  resembling 
an  artistic  creation.  The  immense  sweep  of  the 
glacier,  hence  visible  from  its  foot  to  the  monumental 
Golden  Throne  at  its  head,  bound  all  the  parts  of  half 
the  panorama  together. 

Below  us  the  glacier's  whole  twenty  miles  was  stone- 
covered  ;  farther  up  the  white  ice  appeared  and  swept 
back  to  the  spotless  ne'dh  that  rose  to  the  skyline. 
Another  day's  march  would  carry  us  to  a  broad  open 
space  almost  at  our  feet  where  the  three  greatest 
branches  of  the  glacier  joined ;  one  passing  round  a 
corner  to  the  left  would  lead  straight  to  K.2. ;  another 
up  which  we  looked  was  closed  by  the  Golden  Throne ; 
the  third  disappeared  on  the  right  behind  a  notable 
double-summited  mountain  shaped  like  a  mitre.  The 
Golden  Throne  was  the  great  discovery  of  the  day — a 
broad  and  rounded  peak  with  a  glacier  in  its  bosom, 
which  discharged  in  avalanches  over  a  mighty  ice-cliff. 
It  looked  like  a  mountain  that  might  be  climbed,  given 
time  enough.    Next  to  it  was  a  graceful  white  pyramid, 


The  Bahoro  i57 


the  Bride,  obviously  possible  of  access  under  suit- 
able conditions  of  time  and  weather.  The  Duke  of 
the  Abruzzi  many  years  later  made  on  it  his  notable 
ascent.  Nearer  at  hand  stood  the  chisel-like  head  of 
giant  Gusherbrum — an  enormous  cliff,  brightly  col- 
oured— and  farther  round  the  wide  and  rather  confused 
mass  of  the  Broad  Peak,  now  (like  the  Golden  Throne 
and  the  Bride)  for  the  first  time  beheld  and  named. 
We  spent  a  memorable  hour  and  more  in  sight  of  this 
panorama,  monstrously  magnificent.  It  was  a  kind 
of  Gornergrat  view  doubled  in  scale.  The  peaks  beheld 
from  the  Swiss  view-point  rise  from  3,000  to  5,000  feet 
above  it.  Those  in  sight  from  Crystal  Peak  surpass  it 
by  from  6,000  to  10,000  feet  and  are  of  incomparably 
more  striking  architecture. 

Next  day  we  camped  at  the  meeting-place  of  the 
branches  and  there  sat  out  a  period  of  storm  and  heavy 
snowfall.  When  the  clouds  at  length  cleared  away 
behold  the  majesty  of  K.2.  almost  too  brilliant  for  the 
eye  to  rest  upon  in  its  mantle  of  sunlit  white !  It  was 
clear  from  base  to  summit,  a  broad  and  heavy  mass, 
four-faced  and  four-ridged  like  the  Great  Pyramid, 
inaccessible  by  any  route  that  we  could  see,  and,  as  was 
afterwards  proved,  impregnable  also  on  the  other  side. 
It  is  an  imposing  mountain,  inferior  for  beauty  of  form 
to  several  neighbours,  but  indubitably  grand  and  well 
set  at  the  head  of  its  own  special  glacier,  which  great 
rock  walls  confine  and  frame.  Here  for  me  the  glory 
of  this  transcendent  scenery  culminated.  The  im- 
pression had  been  cumulative  from  day  to  day.  We 
had  marched  along  the  whole  base  of  Masherbrum  and 


158  Motmtain  Memories 

beheld  it  from  below  and  from  above  before  we  could 
realise  the  scale  upon  which  it  is  built.  We  had  sighted 
Gusherbrum  from  afar  and  were  now  encamped  at  the 
foot  of  that  high-soaring  cliff  which  is  like  the  facade 
of  an  incredible  cathedral.  Each  arm  of  the  glaciers 
here  uniting  was  about  two  miles  \\ade.  Everything 
was  gigantic.  Our  eyes  had  adjusted  themselves  to 
new  units  of  measurement  and  could  see  things  as  they 
actually  were.  For  me  those  were  great  days — days  of 
high  romance.  Wonder  pervaded  them.  Dawn,  noon 
and  eve — the  frosty  starlit  night,  storm,  sunshine,  and 
all  the  progress  of  the  hours  were  laden  with  a  felt 
significance.  The  materials  and  forces  of  the  world 
about  me  were  not  new,  but  they  were  unfamiliarly 
manifested.  The  universe  posed  the  same  old  questions 
but  with  novel  emphasis.  The  solution  of  the  riddle, 
alas !  was  as  far  away  as  ever. 

O  Nature's  glory,  Nature's  youth. 

Perfected  sempiternal  whole  ! 
And  is  the  World's  in  very  truth 

An  impercipient  Soul  ? 
Or  doth  that  Spirit,  past  our  ken, 
Live  a  profounder  life  than  men, 
Await   our  passing  days,   and   thus 
In  secret  places  call  to  us  ? 

Beneath  sunny  skies  we  advanced  to  the  base  of 
the  Golden  Throne  and  there  romance  began  to  fade. 
We  fought  a  way  up  a  great  ice-fall  that  impeded  access 
to  the  highest  snow-field.  We  outweathered  another 
terrible  storm.  We  camped  in  blasting  heat  by  day 
and  bitter  cold  by  night  at  the  foot  of  our  mountain ; 


The  Baltoro  159 


then  forced  the  camp  yet  farther  up  it  and  finally 
essayed  the  peak.  It  was  a  fine  climb  up  a  steep  snow- 
slope  to  an  arete  of  ice  and  rock,  and  along  that,  over 
one  peak  after  another,  till  we  found  the  ridge  cut 
through  by  a  deep  depression  and  the  actual  mountain 
rising  over  1,000  feet  above  and  beyond,  for  us  hope- 
lessly virgin.  The  highest  point  we  passed  over  was 
named  Pioneer  Peak.  Its  elevation  as  measured  by 
our  barometer  was  some  22,600  feet,  but  when  I  used 
the  same  instrument  in  the  Andes  I  had  reason  to  doubt 
its  reliability.  Bad  weather  prevented  a  trigono- 
metrical measurement.  The  views  in  these  upper 
regions,  except  in  so  far  as  they  commanded  very  dis- 
tant prospects,  did  not  differ  in  character  from  those 
beheld  about  the  high  nives  of  any  mountain  range. 
They  were  of  the  common  snowy  type.  The  rocky 
giants  were  hidden  behind  less  imposing  walls  and 
ridges.  We  merely  saw  larger  extensions  of  snow- 
field  and  bigger  mounds,  ridges,  and  pyramids  of  snow 
rising  out  of  them.  There  was  little  that  was  unusual 
in  the  glacial  features  which,  high  aloft,  are  the  same 
all  the  world  over.  Romance,  I  suppose,  was  vanishing. 
Exaltation  of  heart  was  wearing  out.  I  turned  to 
descend,  chastened  in  spirit  though  enriched  with 
memories  and  experiences  well  worth  the  appalling 
labour  by  which  they  had  been  won. 

The  descent  was  not  devoid  of  excitement.  We 
had  remained  on  the  summit  till  after  4  p.m.,  and  the 
sun  was  due  to  set  about  six  o'clock.  It  was  impossible 
to  advance  very  quickly  along  the  narrow  arete,  but  we 
were  urgent  in  haste  till  one  of  the  Gurkhas  slipped  out 


i6o  Mountain  Memoi^ies 

of  his  steps  and  shot  violently  down  the  ice-slope  on 
the  left.  The  rope  held  and  saved  him  from  being 
dashed  to  pieces  over  a  precipice  some  distance  below. 
Sunset  colours  painted  the  sky  and  the  distant  landscape 
of  range  beyond  mountain  range  that  opened  before  us 
along  the  arete.  Night  was  near  when  we  reached  the 
point  where  the  ridge  could  be  quitted  for  the  snow- 
slope.  At  its  foot  w^as  the  glimmer  of  a  candle  in  our 
tent.  Darkness  had  already  filled  the  glacier  valley 
and  frost  glazed  the  snow.  We  sat  down  on  the  hard 
polished  surface  and  let  ourselves  slide.  It  was  the 
fastest  glissade  I  ever  experienced.  We  had  to  chance 
the  hergschrund.  All  shot  over  it  without  a  hitch,  but 
that  flight  in  the  gloom  when  the  yet  blacker  cavern 
gaped  beneath  us,  was  a  high  experience. 

Of  the  return  journey  to  Askoley  little  need  be  said. 
We  had  mounted  by  the  right  side  of  the  glacier;  we 
descended  along  the  left,  finding  easier  going,  better 
camping  grounds,  and  helped  by  more  willing  coolies. 
Had  these  latter  been  properly  shod,  as  were  those 
employed  by  our  successors,  taught  by  our  experience, 
we  should  not  have  wasted  much  time  upon  a  peak,  but 
tried  to  force  a  way  over  some  pass  at  the  head  of  the 
great  glacier.  Later  exploration  from  the  other  side 
has  failed  as  yet  to  reveal  the  situation  of  a  practicable 
breach.  If  one  could  be  found  it  would  be  the  grandest 
conceivable  pass  in  the  world,  for  no  other  can  lead 
through  a  group  of  mountains  comparable  to  these  in 
size  and  boldness  of  uplift.  As  it  was,  we  had  to  return 
by  the  way  of  our  coming  and  in  due  season  were  again 
encamped  in  the  hagh  of  Askoley  with  our  work  of 


The  Baltoro  i6i 


exploration  finished.  A  few  other  parties,  notably  the 
Duke  of  the  Abruzzi's,  have  followed  in  our  steps  and 
advanced  what  we  began.  They  have  included  more 
and  better  equipped  experts,  for  all  the  surveying, 
photographing,  and  other  scientific  work  of  my  expedi- 
tion was  done  by  me  alone.  Sella  has  photographed 
the  wonderful  views ;  skilful  surveyors  have  corrected 
and  enlarged  the  map.  Other  travellers  in  years  to 
come  jvill  make  the  same  pilgrimage.  All  alike  when 
they  return  to  the  abodes  of  men  will  tell  the  same 
srtory  :  "  Lo  !  the  half  was  not  told  us  !  "  It  must  be 
so;  for  not  the  half — not  even  the  hundredth  part  of 
the  truth  can  be  conveyed  in  words  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  with  their  eyes  the  wonders  of  the  Baltoro. 

The  journey  from  Askoley  back  to  the  Indus  valley 
at  Skardo  was  over  well-mapped  ground  and  along 
fertile  and  populous  valleys,  after  the  Skoro  Pass 
immediately  over  against  Askoley  had  been  left  behind. 
It  is  always  a  delightful  experience  to  come  from  the 
heights  back  to  the  rich  vegetation  of  a  valley  well 
watered  and  warmed.  That,  I  suppose,  is  why  the 
Shigar  valley  lingers  in  my  memory  as  so  pleasant  a 
region.  In  the  remote  age  of  greatest  glacial  extent 
it  was  the  bed  of  an  ice-river  so  vast  that  Biafo,  Punmah 
and  Baltoro  were  insignificant  branches  of  its  highest 
level,  and  the  ice  filled  them  3,000  feet  or  so  deeper  than 
it  fills  them  now.  That  is  why  the  traces  of  glacier  action 
down  to  the  Indus  are  on  so  large  and  emphatic  a 
scale,  the  old  moraines  being  like  ranges  of  hills  rather 
than  banks  of  debris.  I  noticed  these  phenomena  in 
a  detached  fashion.     They  were  none  of  my  business 


i62  Motmtaiii  Memories 

to  record.  I  was  on  the  home  jaunt,  no  longer  an 
explorer  but  a  traveller,  free  to  enjoy  myself,  with 
instruments  finally  packed  up  and  put  away.  All  I 
had  to  do  was  to  cover  the  ground  in  the  pleasantest 
fashion  that  offered  and  as  quickly  as  might  be. 

It  was  possible  to  float  down  the  river  from  Shigar 
to  Skardo  on  a  native  raft  of  peculiar  construction,  a 
kind  employed  on  the  Tigris  by  ancient  Assyrians  and 
probably  thousands  of  years  before  them.  Ours  was 
fashioned  out  of  a  score  and  a  half  of  sheepskins  blown 
up  into  bladders  and  tied  beneath  a  large  hurdle  or 
framework  of  poles.  The  whole  affair  was  of  the  craziest 
kind.  Each  skin  protruded  through  the  floor  a  pathetic 
leg  by  which  it  could  be  reinflated,  for  all  the  skins 
leaked,  not  being  tied  with  cord  or  string  but  with  bits 
of  tough  grass  or  fresh  willow  bark.  One  man  had  to 
blow  at  them  all  the  time.  The  oars  were  just  raw 
poles,  approximately  straight.  The  navigation  em- 
ployed five  men.  We  five  passengers  squatted  in  a  row 
down  the  middle,  leaving  the  sides  free  for  the  boatmen. 
When  the  thing  was  ready  it  was  lifted  into  the  water, 
and  away  it  floated  on  the  raging  torrent.  The  voyage 
was  uncomfortable  but  exciting.  The  current  raced. 
There  w^re  rows  of  great  waves ;  there  were  rapids  and 
huge  outstanding  rocks.  By  poling  and  rowing  these 
perils  were  avoided,  often,  as  it  appeared,  by  a  narrow 
shave.  At  every  turn  some  danger  hove  in  sight  which 
seemed  likely  to  engulf  us,  but  we  always  just  slipped 
by.  The  banks  rushed  past.  Water  leapt  and  splashed 
around  and  spurted  up  from  below  between  the  skins. 
The  raging  torrent  shouted.     There  were  hkewise  calm 


The  Baltoro  163 


stretches.  The  sun  was  hot,  the  sky  bright  with  clouds 
against  the  bhie,  the  air  fresh,  and  the  water  almost 
ice-cold.  Mile  after  mile  we  urged  along,  becoming 
callous  with  experience.  The  confluence  with  the  Indus 
was  reached,  the  great  river  crossed,  and  we  landed 
safely  on  its  left  bank  below  Skardo.  Thus  ended  the 
adventurous  part  of  our  Indian  journey  in  a  rapture 
of  wild  movement  and  novel  emotion. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LADAKH 

WE  left  Skardo  on  September  13  and  reached 
Srinagar  on  October  11.  The  intervening  month 
was  spent  in  journeyings  round  by  Leh,  where  I  had 
business  in  connection  with  my  instruments.  Both 
Skardo  and  Leh  are  on  the  Indus,  separated  from  one 
another  as  the  crow  flies  by  about  150  miles.  The  first 
and  last  thirds  of  the  route  lie  along  the  great  river,  but 
the  middle  third  avoids  a  difficult  gorge  by  circling  round 
among  the  hills  to  the  south  through  the  large  village 
of  Kargil  and  over  the  Namika  and  Fotu  passes.  Leh 
is  the  capital  of  Ladakh,  and  Ladakh,  though 
politically  united  to  Kashmir,  is  geographically, 
anthropologically,  and  in  religion  part  of  Tibet.  When, 
by  this  route,  Kargil  has  been  left  behind  the  traveller 
quits  the  Moslem  world  and  enters  that  of  Buddhism. 
The  first  part  of  the  journey  up  the  Indus  valley 
can  be  briefly  dismissed.  It  led  along  a  reasonably 
good  hill  road,  on  which  one  could  intermittently  ride 
though  the  baggage  still  had  to  be  carried  by  coolies. 
From  Skardo  we  sent  off  all  except  twenty  loads  to 
await  me  at  Srinagar.  Thus  lightened,  and  with  a 
much  reduced  party,  we  set  forward  on  our  way.  We 
had  now  left  the  great  mountains  behind.  From  the 
trough  of  the  Indus  perpetual  snow  was  seldom  seen, 

but  only  a  few  beds  and  the  powdering  of  the  heights 

164 


Ladakh  165 

after  each  storm.  The  valley  itself,  not  its  encom- 
passing hills,  ,was  the  daily  entertainment.  It  was 
sufficiently  interesting.  Its  twists  and  bends  changed 
the  outlook  continually.  There  >vas  always  a  corner 
ahead  to  stimulate  expectancy  and  often  to  reward  it 
with  some  scenic  surprise.  The  path  was  seldom  level. 
If  for  half  a  mile  it  followed  the  river  bank  it  was  sure 
to  be  forced  by  some  intruding  cUff  or  'garri  to  climb, 
it  might  be,  a  thousand  feet  over  it.  The  ascent  might 
be  followed  by  a  mile  or  two  along  some  shelf  of  the 
hills,  commanding  wider  vistas,  then  we  must  plunge 
again  by  rude  zigzags  or  down  a  breakneck,  rocky 
staircase  to  the  depths,  only  to  mount  once  more. 
There  was  a  monotony  of  bare  grandeur  about  our 
valley  .with  its  great  mountain  sides,  all  of  one  kind, 
its  succession  of  precipices,  its  steep  stone  slopes  and 
side  gullies,  its  wilderness  of  jagged  fallen  rocks,  and 
the  booming  river  sweeping  along  below  in  changeless 
dignity.  Here  and  there  by  the  margin  of  its  spring- 
time flood-level  a  green  pool  of  water  might  lurk 
under  some  cliff.  Such  gems  of  bright  colour  were 
rare  in  the  desert  reaches.  The  monotony  of  the  grey 
sand  below,  the  ochreous  granite  on  either  hand,  and 
the  purple  hills  ahead  and  behind  was  seldom  thus 
disturbed. 

Irrigated  and  cultivated  oases  succeeded  one  another 
every  few  miles.  They  were  sometimes  even  a  mile, 
in  length  and  quite  prosperous  in  aspect.  The  villages 
were  open  and  rather  well  built,  some  houses  with 
lattice  windows,  pretty  wooden  mosques  of  Central 
Asian  tj^pe,  and  ziarats.    Each  village  had  its  camping 


i66  Mountain  Memories 

ground,  sometimes  dignified  by  a  great  chinar  tree, 
and  always  shaded.  Fruit  trees,  walnuts,  and  poplars 
were  common.  The  little  fields  and  farms  were  well 
cultivated.  In  Hunza  and  Nagar  the  local  rajas 
dwelt  in  massive  castles,  and  each  village  was  a  fortress, 
surrounded  by  dry  stone  walls  as  much  as  fourteen 
feet  thick.  The  gates  were  outflanked  by  strong 
towers.  Even  Skardo  retained  the  block-house  that 
used  to  close  the  narrow  approach  by  which  alone  it 
could  be  entered  along  the  river.  Here  in  the  upper 
Indus  valley  local  peace  has  been  so  long  established 
that  the  signs  of  former  insecurity  are  passing  away. 
Some  of  the  village  rajas  have  abandoned  their  high- 
planted  castles  and  built  themselves  modern  houses  on 
the  flat,  with  gardens  and  pavilions.  They  are  settling 
down  into  quiet  country  gentry,  with  much  local  in- 
fluence but  little  power.  Once  or  twice  only  did  we 
see  traces  of  a  very  ancient  race  dwelling  in  these 
parts  at  the  dawn  of  histor}^  Thus  in  the  valley  near 
Skardo  many  rounded  boulders  lying  by  the  river 
bank  are  covered  with  chipped  outlines  of  ibex  with 
enormous  horns  and  designs  resembling  ladders  and 
other  patterns.  It  was  impossible  not  to  be  reminded 
of  the  like  rock  decorations  near  the  Laghi  delle 
Meraviglie  in  the  Maritime  Alps,  which  have  been 
proved  to  belong  to  the  Stone  Age,  or  the  prehistoric 
outline  figures  on  the  rocks  near  El-Kab,  in  Egypt, 
and  elsewhere.  All  seem  to  belong  to  one  remote 
stage  of  civilisation. 

The  valleys  of  Gilgit,   Hunza,   and  Baltistan  had 
been  even  more  desert  than  this  of  the  upper  Indus, 


Ladakh  167 

but  they  did  not  produce  so  heavy  a  sense  of  desola- 
tion. Perhaps  our  mood  was  a  factor  in  the  effect. 
Coming  from  the  high  levels  of  glacier  and  snow,  we 
found  the  air  soft  and  sultry.  Sleep  laid  a  ponderous 
hand  upon  us.  We  slept  long  at  night  and  we  fell 
asleep  by  day  at  every  halting-place.  The  journey, 
moreover,  was  very  fatiguing  owing  to  the  badness  of 
the  so-called  road,  which  was  at  best  a  mule-path,  and 
often  worse  than  any  goat-track  in  the  Alps.  Long 
practice  and  familiarity  alone  made  it  traversable  by 
the  clever  ponies.  It  was  seldom  blasted  or  hacked 
out  of  the  mountain,  but  rather  propped  up  against 
it.  If  a  cliff  had  to  be  crossed,  the  road  was  bracketed 
out  on  rude  trunks  of  trees  hitched  on  to  natural 
cracks  and  ledges  in  the  casualest  fashion,  the  wooden 
framework  being  loosely  paved  with  irregular  flat 
stones  between  which  one  could  see  through  to  over- 
hung depths  of  many  hundreds  of  feet  with  the 
torrent  racing  far  below.  There  were  many  such  giddy 
reaches  and  corners.  Round  sharp  angles  the  way 
was  often  led  up  or  down  a  spiral  staircase  so  steep 
that  the  line  of  a  descending  pony's  back  was  almost 
vertical.  The  last  march  along  the  Indus  was  worst 
of  all — a  succession  of  dangerous  passages  even  for 
travellers  on  foot.  We  did  not  wonder  that  the  native 
road-maker  should  have  judged  well  to  abandon  the 
inhospitable  gorge  and  make  a  circuit  round  by  way 
of  the  Dras  valley  and  its  tributary  when  the  chance 
came. 

About  a  day's  march  up  the  Dras  valley  brought 
us  to  a  good  serviceable  bridge,  where  we  joined  one 


i68  Motmtain  Memories 

oZ  the  main  highways  of  Asia,  the  caravan  route 
which  leads  from  Kashgar  and  Yarkand,  over  the 
Karakoram  Pass,  and  through  Leh  to  Kashmir  and 
India.  This  is  the  easiest  land  route  from  China  and 
Central  Asia  to  the  regions  south  of  Tibet  and  the 
Himalayas.  It  is  not  a  driving  road,  but  a  good  mule- 
path  all  the  way,  over  most  of  which  a  clever  pony 
can  trot.  Beyond  the  bridge  we  presently  reached 
the  important  village  of  Kargil.  It  was  evident  that 
we  had  come  into  the  territory  of  a  ne\y  race  and 
that  Baltistan  had  been  left  behind.  Kargil  is  the 
capital  of  a  district  inhabited  by  Tibetans  who  are  by 
religion  Mohammedans.  It  presents  the  features  of 
a  buffer  region.  Hereabout  the  character  of  the 
scenery  changes.  Beyond  Kargil  the  views  were 
broad  and  open,  the  country  rolling  up  to  the  foot 
of  finely  coloured  mountains  of  moderate  elevation  but 
noble  form,  and  narrowing  ahead  into  the  valley  we 
were  about  to  mount  on  our  way  to  the  Namika  Pass. 
Some  hill-sides  were  dyed  with  astonishingly  bright 
colours — blue  and  red,  their  mingled  debris  purple. 
Such  brightly  coloured  rocks  are  common  between 
Kargil  and  Leh.  I  thought  them  exceptional  till  I 
.went  to  the  Andes  and  found  with  what  a  bold  brush 
volcanoes  can  stain  a  whole  landscape.  The  soft 
modelling  of  the  lower  slopes  all  around  added  to  the 
mountains  an  element  of  grace  common  in  the  older 
ranges  but  absent  from  the  land  of  young  giants  we 
had  been  exploring.  Moreover,  all  these  slopes 
appeared  to  wear  a  thin  garment  of  vegetation.  A 
carpet  of  scanty  grass  covered  the  billowy  moorland 


Ladakh  169 

traversed  by  the  road.  Every  blade  was  autumnally 
brown  or  yellow,  but  to  our  unaccustomed  eyes  the 
effect  was  luxuriant.  We  seemed  to  have  come  into 
a  land  of  plenty,  though  a  contrary  impression  is 
received  by  travellers  arriving  from  Kashmir.  Light 
lay  broad  upon  the  ground ;  a  graceful  profile  of  hills 
edged  the  horizon ;  the  road  was  good ;  the  ponies  fair. 
We  trotted  along,  glad  to  be  alive,  and  as  though 
starting  on  a  new  journey.  All  Asia  lay  before  us. 
Of  the  folk  we  met,  many  had  come  from  Yarkand 
and  beyond.  The  highway  of  China  was  under  our 
feet.  For  the  moment  I  would  gladly  have  consented 
to  wander  on  and  on  indefinitely  to  the  margin  of  the 
world. 

One  march  beyond  Kargil  came  a  post-runner's 
hut,  and  before  it  a  low,  wall-sided  oblong  mound 
covered  with  stones,  each  inscribed  with  the  universal 
Buddhist  formula,  "  Orn  viani  padTni  hum.^^  If  in 
going  by  you  keep  the  mound  close  on  your  right 
hand,  you  may  count  to  your  credit  all  these  prayers. 
The  ponies  know  it,  and  swerve  to  the  left  when 
passing  a  mani  mound.  Presently  we  met  an  indi- 
vidual working  a  little  prayer-wheel  as  he  walked 
along.  It  was  a  small  cylindrical  box  full  of  the  same 
exclamation  written  over  and  over  again  on  pieces  of 
paper.  The  box  is  at  the  end  of  a  short  concentric 
handle,  and  is  easily  rotated  by  a  movement  of  the 
hand.  Each  rotation  credits  the  holder  with  all  those 
prayers.  Even  such  an  effort  can  be  avoided  by  help 
of  water-power.  We  saw  many  little  streams  equipped 
with  one  or  several  small  water-wheels  turning  wooden 


170  Mountain  Memories 

boxes,  like  churns,  full  of  prayers.  I  suppose  the 
owner  of  the  mills  obtains  the  benefit  of  the  prayers. 
All  inhabited  Ladakh  and  Tibet  is  thus  outfitted  with 
contrivances  for  uttering  the  Buddhist  formula.  It  is 
well  that  founders  of  religions  pass  away.  Would  not 
they  be  disgusted  if  they  could  behold  the  mechanical 
and  ritualistic  developments  under  which  superstitious 
mankind  buries  their  fine  ideals? 

It  was  evident  that  we  had  come  into  the  territory 
of  a  new"  religion  and  had  left  the  world  of  Islam. 
Nothing  alters  the  atmosphere  of  travel  like  coming 
up  against  a  people  of  a  fresh  religion,  especially  if 
it  be  one  like  the  Lamaism  of  Tibet,  which  proclaims 
itself  alongside  every  footpath.  Chortens,  which  are 
a  sort  of  mud-built  pagodas,  whitewashed  and  painted, 
containing  relics  of  the  dead,  stand  near  most  villages 
and  are  prominent  objects.  Gonpas,  in  occupation 
and  more  in  ruin,  look  down  on  villages  or  crown 
prominent  hills  or  flank  the  faces  of  cliffs  into  which 
their  chambers  are  burrowed  storey  above  storey 
behind  a  built-up  fagade.  Occasionally  one  comes 
across  some  gigantic  figure  crudely  modelled  in  mud 
against  cliff  or  wall  or  caiTcd  in  stone,  such  as  the 
great  Chamba  of  Mulbei,  which  is  so  big  that  the 
lower  part  of  the  legs  and  the  feet  alone  enter  the 
temple  beneath  it.  A  natural  tower  of  rock  is  its 
support,  and  rags  of  bright  colour  flutter  from  sticks 
on  the  top.  Some  peculiar  natural  feature  of  rock  or 
cave  appears  as  a  rule  to  have  decided  the  site  of  a 
sacred  place. 

A  barren  glen  leads  up  to  the  Namika  Pass,  its 


Ladakh  171 

sides  sandy  slopes  and  ribs  of  sandy  debris,  its  bottom 
the  dry  bed  of  an  intermittent  torrent.  The  sandy 
foreground  was  bright  in  sunshine,  the  distance  dark 
purple  under  shadow  of  clouds.  I  was  quite  alone  in 
the  windings  of  the  narrowing  valley.  Desert  to  right 
and  left,  desert  behind  and  before.  A  lizard  was  the 
only  living  thing.  A  distant  jackal's  bark  disturbed 
the  utter  silence.  A  blade  of  rock  on  the  skyline 
marked  the  pass.  The  Fotu  Pass,  crossed  next  day, 
was  similar — the  views  always  of  bare,  undulating 
ground  of  ochreous  colour,  with  a  distance  of  hills 
almost  as  purple  as  in  the  Arctic  regions.  Thus  after 
a  long  descent  and  the  turning  of  a  corner  we  came 
suddenly  upon  strange  Lamayuru,  a  considerable 
monastery  planted  on  the  summit  of  a  decapitated 
group  of  vertical  earth  pyramids,  with  a  village  at  its 
foot.  The  monastery,  like  all  large  gonpas,  consists 
of  a  group  of  buildings,  each  a  little  house,  piled 
step-like  together,  with  many  red-painted  verandas 
and  with  chortens  patched  about  among  the  buildings. 
Manx  mounds  radiated  along  all  the  approaches,  some 
several  hundred  yards  in  length ;  praying  water-wheels 
squeaked  and  rattled ;  lamas  were  walking  about ;  the 
whole  place  reeked  of  Lamaism.  Peasants  were  work- 
ing the  fields  for  the  lazy  lamas,  and  singing  at  the 
threshing  floor  the  kind  of  simple  little  air  endlessly 
repeated  which  you  may  hear  all  over  the  world  from 
China  to  Peru.  Through  a  gorge  below  this  village 
the  next  march  brought  us  back  to  the  Indus  valley, 
where  it  is  for  the  most  part  wide  and  flat-floored. 
Leh  was  at  the  end  of  a  two  davs'  ride. 


172  Mountain  Memories 

The  capital  of  Ladakh  has  been  so  often  described 
that  it  may  here  be  briefly  dismissed.  Its  central 
feature  is  the  market-place.  When  the  big  caravans 
arrive  in  spring  and  autumn  it  presents  an  animated 
and  picturesque  scene.  It  was  relatively  quiet  when 
we  were  there,  but  there  was  always  a  sense  of  being 
in  one  of  the  nodal  points  of  far-wandering  men. 
Having  come  thus  far,  I  was  determined  not  to  return 
without  sight  of  the  great  monastery  of  Himis.  It 
alone  in  these  parts  can  be  regarded  as  resembling 
the  great  establishments  of  Lhasa,  with  which,  in 
fact,  it  is  in  close  connection.  The  visit  involved  a 
three  days'  trip,  and  was  well  repaid.  Himis  is  a 
town,  a  collection  of  houses  and  temples  and  other 
religious  structures,  inhabited  solely  by  lamas.  The 
houses  rise  one  above  another,  and  collectively  reminded 
me  of  a  north  Italian  hill- village.  It  is  walled  about, 
and  entered  by  well-guarded  gateways.  The  houses 
are  built  of  mud,  square-sided  and  flat-roofed.  But 
for  the  balconied  windows  and  the  porticoes  they 
would  be  plain  cubes.  The  temples  are  of  markedly 
Chinese  character.  They  too  are  built  of  mud,  with 
beams  and  supports  of  wood,  much  carved  and 
brightly  painted.  Internally  they  consist  of  several 
chambers,  large  and  small,  with  galleries  and  pillars 
of  wood.  They  are  full  of  decorative  objects  of  devo- 
tion. The  central  feature  in  the  main  hall  is  a  silver 
chorten  of  considerable  size,  placed  like  the  altar  in 
a  church.  The  hanging  banners,  strips  of  silk  and 
ribbon,  painted  or  embroidered  pictures,  and  paintings 
on  the  walls  produce  a  great  effect.     They  glow  with 


Ladakh  173 

colour.  There  are  also  very  many  sculptured  figures, 
large  and  small,  in  metal  or  painted  clay,  rows  of 
figures  seated  like  Buddhas  and  often  of  a  surprisingly 
life-like  character.  In  front  of  each  temple  is  a 
courtyard  whence  steps  lead  up  to  the  pillared  porch. 
In  one  of  these  a  devil-dance  was  performed  for  me 
by  the  lamas,  a  striking  display  of  moving  colour  and 
extravagant  costume,  the  evident  intention  of  the 
ceremony  being  exorcism  of  evil  spirits.  The  whole 
experience  was  weird  and  most  interesting.  I  spent 
two  nights  in  the  gonpa  in  rooms  that  looked  out  on 
the  aforesaid  court  with  the  temple  facade  opposite 
my  balcony.  It  was  with  regret  that  I  turned  my 
back  upon  this  strange  home  of  devil-worshippers  and 
set  my  face  resolutely  to  return  to  Christian  lands 
and  home. 

From  Leh  to  Srinagar  we  followed  the  main 
caravan  route,  returning  in  our  own  tracks  as  far  as 
the  Dras  valley,  and  mounting  that  to  the  well-known 
Zoji  Pass,  which  gives  access  to  the  Sind  valley  of 
Kashmir.  It  was  an  eleven  days'  ride,  made  up  of 
nineteen  caravan  marches,  but  I  lengthened  it  by  one 
or  two  excursions  in  quest  of  antiquities.  The  people 
we  passed  or  encountered  on  the  road  >vere  a  constant 
joy.  Now  it  would  be  a  pilgrim  on  his  way  to  Mecca, 
inattentive  to  all  else  save  his  distant  goal ;  or,  again, 
a  Jesuit  missionary  travelling  upward  to  his  destined 
field  of  labour.  There  were  post-runners  and  nonde- 
script individuals.  One  such  walking  alone  saluted  us 
at  a  junction  of  tracks  and  asked  which  was  the  way 
to  Yarkand,  as  though  that  were  some  neighbouring 


174  Motmtain  Memories 

\illage.  Some  of  these  wayfarers  were  strangely  pic- 
turesque, notably  so  the  Mecca  pilgrim  and  a  ragged, 
light-hearted  individual  who  came  running  along  with 
wide-scattering  limbs  and  brandishing  a  club.  We 
met  also  caravans  of  laden  horses  and  mules  clouded 
in  dust,  which  the  sun  illumined  into  the  likeness  of 
a  halo  of  glory.  No  day  passed  without  some  enter- 
taining encounters.  One  night  w^e  encamped  with  a 
Yarkandi  merchant  carrying  to  Kashmir  carpets,  felts 
(namdahs),  and  a  preparation  of  hemp  for  smoking. 
I  cheapened  his  carpets  over  cups  of  brick-tea  and 
sugar-candy,  and  some  of  them  are  still  in  my  posses- 
sion. Another  casually  met  merchant  supplied  me 
with  a  considerable  sum  of  money  on  the  verbal  under- 
standing that  I  would  pay  the  amount  to  a  relative 
of  his  at  Peshawar.  He  altogether  refused  to  accept 
any  written  acknowledgment. 

Thus  we  came  to  the  watershed  of  Kashmir  and 
began  the  steep  descent  toward  India.  The  snow- 
mountains  about  the  pass  were  much  like  the  Alps 
in  apparent  size.  Our  descent  brought  us  first  into 
the  region  of  the  birch,  now  leafless ;  the  graceful 
stems  closely  packed  together  and  glittering  in  sun- 
shine looked  from  afar  off  like  a  gossamer  haze  upon 
the  slopes.  Turning  over  a  bend,  we  plunged  2,000 
feet  down  into  an  autumn-tinted  forest  of  amber  and 
gold,  then  among  the  pines  by  which  the  lower  hill- 
sides were  densely  wooded.  Only  by  contrast  is  the 
Sind  valley  beautiful.  It  is  not  comparable  to  such 
North  Italian  beauty  spots  as  the  Val  Maggia,  which 
I   name   merely   as   one    example    out   of  many.     It 


Ladakh  175 

served,  however,  to  give  the  thrill  of  contrast  by  com- 
parison with  the  region  from  which  we  were  coming. 
A  day  was  devoted  en  route  to  visiting  the  ruined 
temples  of  Wangat  perched  high  up  on  a  hill-side. 
Very  different  are  they  from  the  shrines  of  Tibetan 
Lamaism,  for  they  were  built  in  the  ancient  days 
when  the  pure  religion  of  Buddha  covered  Kashmir 
and  much  of  India.  Jungle  was  invading  them,  and 
unless  quickly  taken  in  hand  they  would  soon  have 
perished.  I  believe  they  have  since  been  excavated 
and  are  well  cared  for.  Next  day  a  long  ride  brought 
me  to  the  Dal  Lake,  where  my  companions  were 
already  awaiting  me  in  a  comfortable  house-boat  and 
with  many  of  the  so-called  luxuries  of  civilisation. 

After  a  few  days  at  Srinagar  and  others  at  Abbot- 
tabad,  I  paid  hasty  visits  to  Peshawar,  the  Khyber 
Pass,  Amritsar,  Simla,  Delhi,  Agra  and  the  Taj,  and 
Gwalior.  A  short  excursion  to  see  the  Sanchi  Tope, 
another  ancient  Buddhist  monument,  and  a  day's  out- 
ing from  Bombay  to  the  Elephanta  Temple  concluded 
my  Indian  wanderings.  By  sea  we  voyaged  to 
Trieste,  and  thence  by  train  to  Venice,  which  was 
under  snow  and  in  fog,  a  fog  as  dense  as  any  I  have 
ever  known  in  London,  and  spread  over  Western 
Europe  from  North  Italy  to  Calais,  except  where,  in 
mounting  the  St.  Gothard,  we  for  a  while  rose  into 
sunshine  above  it.  Half-way  across  the  Straits  of 
Dover  it  ended  in  a  sudden  wall.  Kent  was  clear, 
and  so  was  London,  when  I  arrived  there  on  Decem- 
ber 20,  just  in  time  for  the  annual  dinner  of  the 
Alpine  Club. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  ALPS  FROM  END  TO  END  IN  1894 

ENCAMPED  in  scorched  idleness  on  the  highest 
level  of  the  Hispar  glacier  one  blazing  afternoon, 
I  said  to  Zurbriggen,  "  When  we  get  back  to  Europe, 
let  us  make  through  the  Alps  such  a  journey  as  we  have 
been  making  in  these  mountains.  Let  us  travel  the 
Alps  from  end  to  end.  That,  by  the  way,  would  be 
a  good  title  for  a  book."  The  title,  if  not  the  plan, 
took  root  in  my  mind.  On  June  1,  1894,  the  party 
about  to  set  forth  on  its  execution  were  assembled 
in  a  hotel  at  Turin.  They  consisted  of  Edward  Fitz- 
gerald and  his  two  guides,  Aymonod  and  Louis 
Carrel,  two  of  the  Gurkhas,  Kirbir  and  Amar  Sing, 
.who  had  been  with  me  under  Bruce  in  the  Himalaya, 
and  Zurbriggen.  The  two  Gurkhas  ,were  sent  from 
India  that  they  might  continue  their  mountaineering 
education  and  become  qualified  to  instruct  their 
comrades  in  mountain-craft.  Of  those  who  started, 
Zurbriggen  soon  left,  as  his  services  were  unnecessary. 
Fitzgerald  sporadically  accompanied  us ;  he  and  his 
guides  finally  quitted  at  the  Brenner  Pass.  Only  the 
two  Gurkhas  and  I  made  the  whole  journey.  The 
complete  story  has  been  told  in  my  book,  which  has 
passed  through  various  editions,  the  last  in  Nelson's 
cheap  series.     I  shall  make  no  attempt  to  re-tell  it 

176 


The  Alps  from  End  to  End      177 

here,  but  will  confine  myself  to  general  considerations 
and  subjective  experiences. 

The  point  of  division  between  Alps  and  Apennines 
is  fixed  at  the  Colle  di  Tenda,  north  of  Ventimiglia. 
The  last  snow-peak  at  the  east  end  is  the  Ankogel. 
From  Limone,  where  our  journey  may  be  said  to 
have  commenced,  to  Lend,  near  Wildbad  Gastein, 
where  it  ended,  we  climbed  21  peaks  and  39  passes, 
spending  in  all  86  days  from  start  to  finish,  65  of  them 
on  the  march. 

As  our  eyes  had  carried  the  Alpine  scale  to  the 
Himalayas,  and  only  by  degrees  adjusted  themselves 
to  a  true  estimate  of  size,  so  now  I  brought  back  the 
Himalayan  scale  and  over-estimated  altitudes  and 
distances  beheld.  An  experience  in  the  Lake  district 
had  already  warned  me  of  this  fault.  Horace  Walker 
and  I  had  climbed  Scafell  and  wandered  on  to  the 
top  of  one  of  the  Langdale  Pikes.  Arrived  on  the 
summit,  we  found  it  was  not  the  highest  point ;  that 
was  separated  from  us  by  a  stony  area.  The  sun  was 
already  setting,  and  we  had  to  reach  Dungeon  Gill 
Hotel  before  night.  Walker  pointed  to  our  peak  and 
said  we  must  go  across  to  that.  I  replied  that  we 
should  be  benighted  if  we  did.  "How  long,"  he 
asked,  "  do  you  guess  it  would  take  us  to  get  there?  " 
About  an  hour  was  my  estimate.  "  Trust  my  local 
knowledge,"  he  answered,  "and  come  along.  I  will 
bring  you  to  the  inn  before  night !  ' '  We  ran  down 
our  peak,  crossed  the  stony  flat,  and  climbed  the 
highest  rock-mound,  all  in  seven  minutes!  The  hil- 
locks of  rock  had  looked  to  me  like  considerable  peaks. 


178  AIo?mtam  Memories 

and  the  distance  between  them  was  not  the  half-mile 
I  had  supposed,  but  one  or  two  hundred  yards ! 

I  imagine  that  the  Maritime  Alps,  the  first  group 
we  attacked,  may  similarly  have  gained  in  aspect  of 
size.  At  all  events  they  have  left  an  abiding  impres- 
sion upon  my  memory.  I  had  not  been  among  them 
before,  nor  have  I  returned  to  them,  yet  they  are  one 
of  the  districts  of  the  Alps  that  linger  in  my  mind 
as  most  admirable.  Argentera  must  be  a  fine  peak  at 
any  time.  In  June  it  and  all  its  neighbours  ^were 
dignified  by  masses  of  winter  snow.  I  do  not,  how- 
ever, think  of  peaks  when  the  Maritimes  are  named, 
but  of  the  incomparable  valleys,  especially  the  Val- 
dieri,  which  combines  rich  vegetation  and  lush  meadows 
with  the  loveliest  of  transparent  running  brooks,  and 
a  torrent  winding  about  in  a  little  gorge  of  its  own 
cut  deep  into  the  valley  floor.  It  was,  moreover,  the 
month  of  flowers.  Every  ascent  led  up  hill-sides  that 
,were  wild  gardens,  broad-flushed  with  sheets  of  blossom 
the  like  of  which  I  had  never  before  beheld.  The 
easy  scramble  to  the  Pelvo  d'Elva  w^as  thus  glorified. 
At  our  feet,  when  on  the  summit,  lay  the  Pied- 
montese  plain,  soft  and  faintly  varied  in  violet  tones 
and  decorated  with  sinuous  silver  ribbons  of  water; 
southward  the  Apennines,  with  a  wave  of  cloud  pour- 
ing over  the  passes  and  melting  into  the  haze  over  the 
plain ;  strips  of  cumulus  clouds  lazily  voyaging  beneath 
the  blue ;  a  foreground  of  intricate  valleys,  green  on 
the  south,  bare  on  their  northern  slopes. 

The  king  of  the  Cottians  is  Monte  Viso,  with 
whose  graceful  pyramid  every  climber  from  Zermatt 


The  Alps  from  End  to  End     179 

or  Chamonix  becomes  distantly  familiar.  The  ascent 
was  made  in  bad  weather  and  with  the  mountain  in 
bad  condition,  but  it  was  an  amusing  scramble.  Snow 
was  falling  heavily  when  we  left  the  summit.  The 
descent  was  in  a  freezing  gale,  which  followed  us 
angrily  to  our  night's  resting-place.  The  Cottians  on 
the  other  side  of  the  frontier  are  beloved  by  some 
French  climbers.  As  peaks  they  did  not  interest  me, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Viso.  I  was  glad  to  leave 
them  behind  and  to  approach  the  Western  Graians. 
Of  course  it  would  have  been  pleasant  to  take  some 
of  the  great  Dauphine  peaks  on  our  way,  but  the 
season  was  too  early  for  the  fine  ones ;  moreover 
the  whole  Dauphine  group  lies  off  the  main  line  of  the 
Alps,  in  a  pocket  of  its  own.  It  was  not  along  the 
axis  of  our  route.  Hence  I  have  nothing  to  say  of 
Meije  or  Ecrins  or  the  stony  valleys  so  often  described. 
We  entered  the  new  district  at  Modane,  on  the 
Mount  Cenis  railway.  In  weather  continuously  bad 
and  over  heavy  accumulations  of  .winter  snow,  we 
crossed  the  Dome  de  Chasseforet  and  traversed  cols 
beneath  Grande  Casse  and  Grande  Motte,  both  peaks 
inaccessible  in  such  days.  Our  journey  had  to  be 
quickly  carried  through,  weather  or  no,  and  when 
peaks  denied  themselves  we  had  to  be  content  with 
passes.  Day  after  day  we  pounded  through  soft  snow 
which  extended  down  to  low  levels  and  covered  the 
grassy  Alps.  At  Val  d'Isere  luck  changed,  so  that 
we  could  traverse  the  fine  pyramid  named  the  Grande 
Sassiere.  From  its  summit  the  main  Alpine  chain 
was  for  the  first  time   revealed ;   the   Gurkhas   were 


i8o  Mountain  Memories 

wild  \A\h  delight.  There  stood  Mont  Blanc,  the 
greatest  impediment  to  be  surmounted,  veiy  glorious 
in  aspect,  with  only  the  Ruitor  massif  between  us 
and  its  foot,  for  I  had  already  climbed  the  chief 
Graian  peaks  and  needed  not  to  go  aside  and  seek 
them. 

Thus  far  the  romance  of  our  progress  had  lain  in 
fair  valleys  and  flowery  alps.  The  peak  climbs,  even 
of  Viso  and  Sassiere,  had  been  just  ordinary  scrambles, 
enjoyable  but  unromantic  save  for  the  storm.  The 
traverse  of  Ruitor  was  a  far  more  emotional  experience, 
not  by  reason  of  difficulty  or  danger,  but  for  the  sheer 
glory  of  the  w^orld.  I  remember  few  expeditions  so 
rich  in  precious  hours.  Ruitor  is  scarcely  worth  call- 
ing a  peak ;  its  characteristic  feature  is  an  extensive 
snow-field  raised  on  high.  This  great  white  sheet  is 
a  conspicuous  object  in  the  view  from  the  Pennine 
Mountains.  We  reached  the  edge  of  it  by  climbing 
up  the  S.  Grat  cirque — a  desolate  amphitheatre  rising 
by  slopes  and  terraces  to  a  level  sky-line.  The  ascent 
had  been  made  in  clouds  and  threatening  w'cather. 
We  saw  nothing  from  the  highest  point,  but  the  mist 
itself  supplied  some  lovely  effects,  for  it  was  delicate 
and  sparkling.  The  pure  and  intricately  rippled  snow- 
field  on  which  we  stood  disappeared  into  it  in  all 
directions.  The  circle  of  the  soaring  sun  could  just 
be  discerned.  The  air  w^as  soft ;  silence  reigned ;  our 
surroundings  were  as  though  spun  of  fairy  webs, 
evanescent.  A  writhing  and  flickering  supervened  as 
in  a  chaos  taking  shape.  For  a  moment  heat  as  of  a 
blast   furnace   scorched   us.     We  tore  off  our  coats, 


The  Alps  /rom  End  to  End      i8i 

^wrapped  our  heads  in  them,  and  cast  ourselves  in 
sudden  agony  on  the  snow.  Perhaps  some  lens  of 
denser  air  passing  overhead  acted  as  a  burning  glass 
and  concentrated  the  sun's  heat  upon  us.  The  torture 
lasted  but  a  few  seconds.  I  have  had  but  one  other 
like  experience.  Long  a  man  could  noft  have  lived 
through  it.  Then  vague  and  changeful  shapes 
trembled  into  view  and  vanished.  Wisps  of  mist 
eddied  around.  Presently  the  curtain  was  altogether 
withdrawn,  and  there  shone  the  whole  range  of  Mont 
Blanc,  radiant  in  beauty  and  clear  in  every  detail, 
standing  up  beyond  the  broad  and  spotless  foreground 
of  snow  on  which  we  stood.  Toward  this  vision  we 
descended  to  the  glacier's  foot,  then  down  the  great 
steps  of  a  terraced  valley  with  pools  on  the  terraces 
and  waterfalls  over  the  cliffs,  one  lovely  scene  follow- 
ing another  till  we  stood  upon  the  road  of  the  Little 
St.  Bernard,  and  thus  returned  to  the  houses  and  hotels 
of  ordinary  mankind. 

Courmayeur  was  quitted  on  June  26,  and  Chamonix 
reached  the  following  day  over  the  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc.  It  was  the  first  ascent  of  the  year,  and  we 
were  thrice  lucky  to  chance  at  this  early  season  upon 
days  when  the  climb  was  possible.  We  could  not 
have  waited  for  them.  The  ascent  began  up  the 
Miage  glacier,  the  most  Himalayan-looking  in  the 
Alps,  for  its  lower  end,  stone-covered,  moundy  and 
disagreeable,  gives  a  dim  sort  of  idea  of  the  Baltoro. 
Our  route  turned  off  to  the  right  up  the  tributary 
Dome  glacier,  which  falls  between  two  buttresses  of 
rock  from  the  ridge  joining  the  Dome  du  Gouter  with 


i82  Alotmtain  Memo7nes 

the  Aiguille  de  Bionnassay.  A  comfortable  hut  high 
up  on  one  of  these  buttresses  sheltered  us  for  the 
night.  From  the  door  we  looked  back  over  Ruitor's 
snows.  White  Sassiere's  pyramid  rose  above  some 
clouds,  but  the  night  view  was  most  wonderful  when 
the  moon  crowned  Trelatete  with  silver  and  caught 
the  crest  of  Bionnassay 's  slender  ridge  while  leaving 
our  valley  in  darkest  shadow\  Faint  suggestions  of 
peaks  and  soft  clouds  floating  in  light-permeated  air 
filled  the  far  distance. 

An  hour  or  two  after  midnight  we  were  afoot 
climbing  an  ice-staircase  to  the  snow-slopes,  plateaux, 
and  huge  crevasses  of  the  nivi  of  the  Dome.  We 
passed  between  cavernous  crevasses  and  under  ice-falls 
wedged  between  jutting  buttresses  of  splintered  rock. 
Thus  without  untoward  incident,  after  long  labour  of 
step-cutting,  we  came  out  upon  the  ridge  which  to  the 
right  led  easily  to  the  Dome  du  Gouter,  while  to  the 
left  it  narrowed  to  a  knife-edge  and  swept  up  with 
perfect  grace  to  the  delicate  summit  of  the  Bionnassay 
Aiguille.  Geneva's  lake  was  at  our  feet  and  a  purple 
haze,  enveloping  all  the  lower  hill-country  and  the 
plains  beyond.  Above  the  Dome  the  ordinary  route 
from  Chamonix  was  joined  at  the  Vallot  hut,  whence 
Kirbir  led  to  the  summit,  cutting  many  a  step  along 
the  windy  arete  of  the  Bosses.  At  noon  Europe  was 
below  us,  and  the  panoramic  view  was  clear.  Many 
little  clouds  floated  in  the  sky,  but  hid  no  mountains. 
The  fascination  of  the  prospect  was  in  the  clouds,  in 
the  flocks  of  little  ones  at  our  feet  and  the  soft  white 
billows   far    away,    as   it    were,    breaking    on   a   wide 


The  Alps  from  E^td  to  End      183 

and  shallow  shore,  with  blue  between  and  beneath 
them.  After  a  long  halt  we  pounded  down  to 
Chamonix. 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  from  Chamonix 
to  Zermatt  we  should  have  followed  the  High  Level 
Koute  along  the  Pennines,  thence  over  the  Saas  Grat 
and  the  Fletschhorn  to  Simp  Ion  and  along  the  Lepon- 
tines,  but  I  had  already  in  former  years  travelled  this 
route,  in  many  parts  more  than  once  ;  I  therefore  chose 
an  alternative  line.  Switzerland  is  traversed  from  w^est 
to  east  by  two  great  parallel  ranges,  separated  from 
one  another  by  the  long  depression  of  the  Rhone 
valley  and  its  eastward  continuation.  We  might 
follow  either  range  :  the  Pennines,  Lepontines,  etc., 
on  the  south  or  the  Oberland  on  the  north.  I  had 
always  neglected  the  Oberland.  Now  was  my  chance 
to  see  something  of  it.  Accordingly  we  quitted 
Chamonix  over  the  Buet  and  crossed  the  Rhone 
valley  at  St.  Maurice.  Our  first  peak  of  the  northern 
range  was  the  Diablerets,  followed  by  the  Wildhorn, 
the  Plaine  Morte  glacier,  and  a  pass  to  the  Gemmi. 
I  found  this  part  of  the  journey  delightful.  There 
were  comfortable  high  resting  places  between  one 
climb  and  the  next.  The  weather  was  fine  and  the 
views  superb.  That  from  the  Diablerets  is  specially 
commendable.  The  passage  of  the  Plaine  Morte 
glacier  fulfilled  and  rewarded  a  long  desired  wis'h.  It 
is  like  a  large  high  planted  snow-lake,  almost  level,  of 
wonderfully  pure  snow,  prettily  rippled.  It  is  very 
secluded.  From  most  points  on  its  surface  you  can- 
not see  out  to  the  world  beyond.     Few  climbers  visit 


1 84  Motmtain  Me^nories 

it.      It  is   a   haunt  of  solitude,   with  no  trace  of  the 
existence  of  man. 

Instead  of  crossing  from  the  Gemmi  inn  over  the 
Torrenthorn  to  Ried  I  made  an  excursion  to  Zermatt 
in  hopes  of  taking  the  Gurkhas  up  the  Cervin. 
Bad  weather  rendered  that  impossible,  so  we  climbed 
the  Nordend  of  Monte  Rosa  instead  and  accomplished 
the  ascent  in  a  furious  gale — a  fine  and  strenuous  ex- 
perience. From  this  deviation,  returning  by  the 
\alleys  to  Ried,  we  continued  the  direct  line  of  our 
journey,  pursuing  a  long  glacial  traverse  through  the 
heart  of  the  Oberland,  the  longest  unbroken  snow- 
traverse  in  the  Alps.  It  presents  no  difficulties,  and  is 
a  mere  trudge  over  nivis  and  glaciers,  but  it  commands 
scenery  continuously  splendid,  and  leads  always  far 
awaj^  from  the  haunts  of  men.  Three  passes  have  to 
be  crossed  in  succession  :  the  Lotschenliicke,  the  Griin- 
hornliicke,  and  the  Oberaarjoch.  The  terminal  hotels 
are  at  Ried  and  on  the  Grimsel  Pass.  Between  the  first 
pass  and  the  second  the  way  lies  across  the  upper  level 
of  the  Aletsch  glacier  and  along  two  of  its  tributaries — 
the  largest  glacier-basin  in  the  Alps.  We  spent  two 
nights  at  the  Concordia  hut,  near  where  the  great 
glacier  collects  together  its  tributaries  to  form  its  main 
body.  The  intervening  fine  day  was  devoted  to  an 
ascent  of  the  Jungfrau.  We  had  intended  on  the 
morrow  to  climb  the  Finsteraarhorn  en  route,  but 
weather  prevented ;  so  passing  round  its  foot  we  found 
the  Oberaarjoch  in  an  oncoming  storm  which  accom- 
panied us  to  the  Grimsel  and  there  imprisoned  us  for 
a  day. 


z 

u 

«i: 

H 

u 

H 
O 

OS 


The  Alps  from  End  to  End      185 

The  following  midnight  when  the  moon  shone 
clearly  we  held  on  our  way  and  were  high  on  the  arete 
of  the  Galenstock  at  sunrise.  The  whole  mechanism 
of  the  wonder  was  clearly  displayed.  The  different 
coloured  lights  into  which  the  white  rays  of  the  hidden 
sun  were  split  up  in  passing  through  the  prism  of  the 
atmosphere  were  visible  as  spectrum-bands  across  the 
western  sky.  Low  down  the  light  was  mellow,  farther 
up  came  a  wide  band  of  pink,  and  above  that  a  band 
of  gold.  These  dyed  zones  resembled  a  curtain,  hang- 
ing across  the  sky  and  slowly  lowered  as  the  hidden 
sun  ascended  from  the  night.  The  lowering  curtain 
as  it  neared  the  distant  peaks  in  the  south-west  first 
overcame  the  dead  whiteness  of  their  pallor.  When 
the  edge  of  the  pink  band  touched  them  they  glowed 
with  the  normal  crimson  of  dawn  at  the  moment  of 
the  sun's  actual  rising  upon  them.  So  long  as  the  pink 
band  of  the  curtain  was  passing  over  them  in  its 
descent  they  reflected  various  shades  of  that  colour. 
Finally  and  for  a  brief  interval  the  gold  band  rested 
on  them  and  they  glowed  like  fire  till  the  white  light 
of  full  day  illumined  them  as  the  sun  soared  above 
the  damp  bed  of  atmosphere  near  the  horizon.  Had 
bars  of  cloud  been,  as  so  often,  stretched  across  the  east 
so  that  the  sun  alternately  hid  behind  them  and  shone 
through  their  gaps,  the  continuity  of  the  changes  I 
beheld  would  have  been  broken  and  those  intermittent 
effects  of  the  coming  and  going  of  the  dawn-glow 
would  have  been  produced ;  but  the  east  was  perfectly 
clear  and  the  whole  drama  of  sunrise  passed  through 
its  phases  with  unbroken  lucidity. 

M 


i86  Mountain  Mernoincs 

We  plunged  do\Mi  a  previously  unclimbed  couloir 
from  the  ridge  of  the  Galenstock,  slipped  through  a 
narrow  gap  in  an  opposite  range  of  crags,  and  so  by 
scrambling  down  another  and  longer  couloir  reached 
the  Winter  glacier.  Down  it  and  the  valley  below  a 
toilsome  march  ended  at  Goschenen  and  its  yawning 
tunnel-mouth. 

The  Alps  of  Uri  and  Glarus  had  next  to  be  sur- 
mounted, chief  among  them  the  historical  Todi.     They 
afforded  pleasant  scenery  and  interesting  though  easy 
expeditions,  but  Todi  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  us 
and  withdrew  into  clouds  and  storm  at  our  approach, 
so  that  we  had  much  ado  to  work  round  him  by  passes. 
The  mountains  climbed  in  this  part  of  the  journey 
have  left  in  my  mind  vaguest  memories.     Few  are 
the  prospects  I  can  recall  except  well  below  the  snow- 
level.     I  remember  camping  for  the  night  beside  the 
desolate  Mutten  lake,  and  the  avalanche  of  sheep  that 
rushed  down  upon  us  in  hopes  of  salt,  and  carried  Carrel 
off  his  feet.     I  remember  also  the  interest  aroused  in 
me    by   sight    of   the    huge    mountain-fall    that   over- 
whelmed the  village  of  Elm  in  1881  and  the  accounts 
of  it  given  to  me  by  eye-witnesses  still  li\ing.     I  also 
very  clearly  remember  passing  through  the  Martins- 
loch,   a   vast   natural  archway   cut  right  through  the 
ridge  of  a  mountain  at  some  depth  below  its  crest,  the 
only  pass  I  have  ever  crossed  of  such  a  nature ;  but 
most  of  the  scenes  described  in  my  book,  which  was 
written  on  the   spot   from   day  to   day,   have  utterly 
passed  from  my  memory.     When  I  read  my  own  para- 
graphs they  are  Uke  the  writing  of  a  total  stranger 


The  Alps  from  End  to  End      187 

describing  what  I  might  never  have  beheld.  From 
Ragatz  we  mounted  the  easy  Scesaplana,  an  excep- 
tionally fine  view^-point,  whence  we  saw  the  sun  rise 
over  a  vaporous  intricacy  of  clouds  and  mountains  with 
the  pretty  Liiner  See  rippling  and  laughing  at  our 
feet.  After  that  only  the  Silvretta  range  intervened 
between  us  and  Tirol.  Our  plan  had  been  to  climb 
the  Gross  Litzner  and  Piz  Buin,  but  we  never  even 
saw  either  of  them  or  any  of  their  neighbours.  We 
crossed  the  range  indeed  by  a  glacier  pass  but  in  so 
dense  a  fog  that  the  whole  route  had  to  be  directed 
by  map  and  compass,  for  never  could  our  vision  pene- 
trate farther  than  a  few  yards  in  any  direction.  On 
August  5th  Switzerland  was  quitted  in  the  Lower 
Engadin,  and  only  the  mountains  of  Tirol  remained 
to  be  traversed. 

The  approach  to  the  Oetzthal  glaciers  raised  pleas- 
ing emotions.  They  had  been  in  sight  from  all  the- 
peaks  climbed  by  us  during  the  Sterzing  reading-party 
of  1874.  We  then  felt  but  did  not  like  to  confess 
that  the  Stubai  peaks  were  second-rate  compared  with 
these  greater  neighbours.  Now  at  last  I  was  about 
to  make  their  acquaintance  by  crossing  over  the 
Weisskugel,  their  loftiest  peak,  upwards  of  12,000  feet 
high — a  very  respectable  altitude  in  Tirol.  The 
approach  w^as  by  way  of  the  Langtauferer  valley  and 
its  glaciers  which  present  noble  ice-scenery,  especially 
where  the  Gepatsch  nevi  tumbles  into  the  Langtau- 
ferer, displaying  ice-cliffs  impregnable  from  side  to 
side.  Not  wishing  to  carry  our  packs  over  the  peak 
we  made  a  detour  to  leave  them  at  a  convenient  spot. 


i88  Mountain  Memories 

otherwise  ,we  should  have  followed  the  north  arete 
throughout.  The  morning  was  beautiful.  Softly 
undulating  fields  of  snow  surrounded  us,  breaking  into 
mazes  of  serac  with  tops  brushed  by  the  sun.  Mist- 
filled,  sparkling  air  manifested  the  complex  curvatures 
of  the  whitest  snow-field.  A  steep  snow-slope  led  to 
the  north  arete  and  so  to  the  top.  The  view  was  the 
finest  of  the  whole  summer  from  the  top  of  a  peak,  not 
for  wide  comprehension  but  for  delicacy  of  atmospheric 
effect  and  richness  of  unusual  colour.  Sunward  the  air 
was  full  of  light ;  in  the  opposite  direction  it  was  a 
purple  ocean  with  peaks  submerged  like  coral  reefs, 
and  soft  clouds  floating  like  creatures  of  the  sea.  The 
east  face  invited  us  to  descend.  Usually  it  must  be  a 
sheet  of  ice  or  dangerous  avalanche  snow.  This  day 
it  was  of  admirable  texture,  and  we  could  tread  down 
it  as  down  a  ladder,  marvelling  how  snow  could  adhere 
to  such  a  slope.  Presently  the  glorious  weather 
changed,  but  we  reached  Vent  just  in  time  to  escape 
the  downpour,  which  continued  for  thirty-six  hours. 

In  1874  the  Zuckerhiitl  had  been  the  unattained 
goal  of  our  ambition.  I  had  decided  at  long  last  to 
climb  it  this  year  on  the  way  to  Sterzing.  To  that 
end  we  spent  a  night  in  a  log-inn  on  the  Windbach 
Alp ;  but  the  next  day  seemed  hopeless  and  we  were 
constrained  the  day  following  to  push  forth  into  fog 
and  rain  and  to  feel  our  way  by  help  of  the  compass 
over  the  dividing  ridge  and  down  our  old  friend  the 
Uebelthal  glacier.  The  pass  was  successfully  found, 
but  the  snow-field  on  the  other  side  sloped  away  into 
mere  nebula.     We  laid  a  course  for  the  Miiller  hut  with 


The  Alps  from  End  to  End     189 


such  success  that  when  it  emerged  from  the  fog  we  were 
.within  a  dozen  yards  of  its  front  door.  Thence  to 
Sterzing  was  but  a  retracing  of  my  steps  of  twenty 
years  before.  I  marked  many  changes.  The  glacier 
had  greatly  sunken  and  retreated.  Excellent  paths 
had  been  made  and  no  less  than  three  huts  built,  while 
an  hotel  was  a-building  on  an  island  of  rock  at  the 
foot  of  the  Wilder  Freiger.  It  gave  me  great  joy  to 
descend  through  the  well-remembered  Ridnaun  valley 
and  to  find  how  much  more  keenly  I  was  now  capable 
of  appreciating  its  simple  charms  of  woodland, 
meadows  and  running  waters  than  before,  when  all 
my  heart  was  set  upon  the  snows  and  the  peaks  rising 
out  of  them. 

At  Brennerbad,  near  the  summit  of  the  Brenner 
Pass,  Fitzgerald  and  his  guides  finally  left  me,  and  I 
went  forward  alone  with  the  Gurkhas.  Two  days' 
tramp  over  familiar  ground  took  us  to  the  hut  on  the 
Hochfeiler,  highest  of  the  Zillerthal  Alps,  which  I  had 
climbed  in  clouds  in  1874.  I  was  still  sore  at  not 
having  seen  the  view  and  planned  to  climb  it  again. 
A  violent  storm  raged  all  night  and  buried  the  base  of 
the  hut  deep  in  snow,  but,  the  sun  coming  out,  we 
adventured  forth  and  waded  knee-deep  up  to  the  south- 
west arete.  Ten  minutes  below  the  top  we  came  into 
full  contact  with  a  gale  of  north  wind,  so  violent  and 
cold  as  to  be  unendurable  without  arctic  clothing. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  swift  descent  southward, 
over  the  Weisszintjoch,  and  thence  by  good  paths  and 
easy  passes  toward  the  Gross  Venediger. 

A  few  days  later  we  gained  the  Kiirsinger  hut,  high 


igo  Motintain  Memories 

on  the  flank  of  that  mountain,  after  racing  to  escape 
an  uprising  storm.  It  shook  its  black  aegis  over  us  as 
we  gained  the  desired  shelter,  and  there  vve  were 
weatherbound  for  four  nights  and  three  days.  On  the 
fourth,  in  continuing  fog,  we  set  forth  out  of  sheer 
restlessness  and  crossed  the  Venediger  to  Windisch 
Matrei,  seeing  nothing  on  the  high  levels  save  whirling 
spouts  of  snow  and  coiled  wri things  of  cloud.  It  rained 
again  all  night.  Surely  the  summer  of  1894  must  have 
been  of  exceptionally  evil  disposition !  The  grass-pass 
to  Kals  could  be  negotiated  in  any  weather.  Unfor- 
tunately I  lost  the  Gurkhas  on  the  way,  and  they 
walked  up  and  down  all  sorts  of  valleys  looking  for  me 
before  we  came  together  next  morning  at  the  Stiidl 
hut  beneath  the  Gross  Glockner.  A  half-day's  rest 
for  them  was  a  necessity.  In  the  afternoon  we 
mounted  the  easy  ascent  to  the  upper  hut  which  stands 
on  the  highest  shoulder  of  the  peak,  the  sun  at  last 
consenting  to  shine,  though  with  no  aspect  of  bringing 
settled  weather.  Some  thirty  persons  occupied  the 
hut  and  were  well  fed  by  its  servants.  We  slept 
together  in  a  long  row  on  mattresses  that  were  com- 
fortable enough,  and  all  went  forth  next  morning  in 
the  rosy  flare  of  dawn.  Just  before  sunrise  the  jagged 
eastern  horizon  blaz.cd  with  a  narrow  outline  of  fire. 
Over  North  Italy  hill  and  vale  still  slept  beneath  a 
violet  pall.  Our  fellow-climbers  were  not  in  good  con- 
dition. We  were  as  hard  as  nails.  We  let  them  all 
start,  ate  our  breakfast,  then  ran  to  the  summit  in 
thirty-five  minutes  and  were  the  first  upon  it.  Only 
the  traverse  along  the  arete  from  the  lower  to  the  higher 


The  Alps  fro7n  End  to  End     191 

point  ever  presented  any  difficulties.     They  have   all 
been  removed  by  blasted  steps  and  an  iron  raihng ! 

Two  more  peaks  remained  to  be  climbed,  the  Sonn- 
blick  (on  whose  summit  there  is  a  house)  and  the 
Ankogel,  last  of  the  snowy  Alps.  They  offer  dull 
climbs  and  appeared  to  me  to  command  only  moderate 
views.  By  this  time,  however,  I  was  getting  stale.  I 
was  tired  of  the  bad  weather.  I  had  seen  enough  for 
one  summer.  The  whole  scrambling  and  travelling 
business  had  lost  its  charm.  Romance  had  vanished. 
Our  work  seemed  almost  like  a  trade.  I  turned  away 
from  the  Ankogel  with  relief,  hastened  to  the  flesh-pots 
of  Wildbad  Gastein,  lost  and  again  recovered  the 
Gurkhas,  and  hastened  back  with  them  to  London  as 
fast  as  express  trains  would  carry  us.  Bruce  happened 
to  be  on  the  doorstep  of  my  house  as  we  drove  up  and 
the  Gurkhas  fell  into  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  FIRST  CROSSING  OF  SPITSBERGEN 

IN  1894  a  paper  describing  the  ascent  of  a  hill  in  Spits- 
bergen was  sent  to  me  as  editor  for  the  time  being  of 
the  "Alpine  Journal."  Attention  thus  directed  toward 
the  north  induced  further  investigations.  Were  there 
other  mountains,  ranges  of  mountains,  in  the  same  arctic 
island?  Had  they  been  explored,  mapped,  climbed .f* 
I  was  impelled  to  read  the  literature  of  arctic  explora- 
tion and  became  interested  in  the  subject.  Soon 
afterward,  early  one  winter  morning,  I  was  riding 
along  the  bank  of  the  Serpentine  in  Hyde  Park.  It 
was  misty  and  the  water  had  been  frozen  over.  The 
sheet  of  ice  was  broken  up  and  the  sun  was  penetrating 
the  mist  and  glittering  on  the  ice.  The  tender 
evanescent  beauty  of  the  scene  took  sudden  possession 
of  me.  Thus,  perhaps,  on  a  grander  scale  might  arctic 
visions  fashion  themselves.  At  that  moment  the  fates 
decided  for  me  the  two  expeditions  carried  out  in  1896 
and  1897. 

Some  eighteen  months  after  that  morning  in  the 
Park  the  party  I  had  organised  was  on  board  a  steamer 
approaching  the  west  coast  of  Spitsbergen.  The  con- 
ditions resembled  those  of  that  winter  day  in  London. 
There  was  the  same  mist,  the  same  sunshine  struggling 
through,  and  the  same  broken  ice,  but  now  larger  in 

scale    and    floating    on    an    ocean.     The    impression 

192 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  193 

received  was  of  an  extreme  tenderness  and  delicacy. 
The  whiteness  of  the  ice-floes  and  larger  masses  (none 
of  them  large  enough  to  be  called  bergs)  was  intensified 
by  shimmering  streaks  and  shadows  of  transparent 
blues,  many  shaded.  The  water  rippled  ;  sunshine  glanced 
back  from  diamond  points  of  ice  or  flashed  from  wave- 
lets. Thus  the  frozen  north  opened  its  portals  of 
beauty,  and  thus  another  new  world  invited  the  pilgrim 
to  enter  and  find  perhaps  at  last  the  entirely  satisfying 
vision.  Later  on  the  majesty  of  the  north  revealed 
itself  to  us.  We  saw  great  icebergs  fall  into  the  sea ; 
we  encountered  storm  in  the  midst  of  grandeur;  we 
came  among  precipitous  rocks  and  huge  frozen  soli- 
tudes ;  but  as  I  look  back  upon  the  experience  of  two 
long  seasons  it  is  the  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  arctic 
beauty  that  remains  its  greatest  and  most  abiding 
charm. 

After  two  days'  ploughing  through  the  floating 
ice  within  deeply  penetrating  Ice  Sound  we  landed  on 
a  low  spit  that  protects  the  secluded  harbour  of  Advent 
Bay.  There  we  set  up  our  tents,  landed  our  stores, 
and  established  our  base-camp.  It  is  a  dreary  site  and 
was  for  us  intensely  disappointing.  The  hills  around 
are  of  unimpressive  form,  rising  out  of  wdde  flats,  then 
snow-covered  and  featureless,  later  brown  expanses  of 
bog.  Only  northward  across  the  Sound  is  there  any 
stretch  of  mountain  and  glacier  of  notable  character, 
and  the  hills  there  are  too  far  away  to  be  more  than 
generally  impressive.  Our  first  business  was  to  pene- 
trate into  the  unknown  interior  of  the  island  and  force 
a  way  across  its  untraversed  j?olitudes  to  the  east  coast 


194  MoiLntain  Memories 

and  back.  Many  scientific  expeditions  had  explored 
the  coastal  regions  of  Spitsbergen,  but  no  published 
account  gave  any  sort  of  true  idea  of  the  nature  of  the 
surface  of  the  land.  Its  geological  structure  had  been 
investigated,  but  little  was  recorded  about  the  land- 
forms  and  practically  nothing  about  the  circumstances 
which  would  affect  and  decide  the  movements  of  a 
traveller.  Thus  we  arrived  with  an  entirely  unsuitable 
equipment,  and  were  about  to  launch  forth  on  a  journey 
at  the  very  worst  time  of  year  for  its  accomplishment. 
We  were  bound  to  traverse  a  series  of  flat,  mainly  wide 
valleys,  filled  right  across  with  softening  bog  covered 
by  melting  snow.  We  had  brought  ponies  and  arctic 
sledges  for  transport — a  job  for  which  they  were  unfit. 
The  bog  was  a  compound  of  mud  and  sharp-edged 
stones,  split  by  frost.  The  ponies  sank  up  to  their 
bellies  in  the  stiff  compound  and  had  to  be  dug  out 
time  and  again  in  every  march.  The  stones  rasped  the 
sledge-runners,  which  had  to  be  frequently  mended  or 
replaced.  We  also  sank  in  at  every  step,  and  the  toil 
of  advance  was  extreme. 

My  sketch-survey,  made  as  we  went  along,  .was 
complicated  by  the  bad  weather.  Hill  summits  were 
generally  clouded,  and  a  second  sight  of  the  same  point 
was  seldom  obtainable,  for  I  could  not  await  clearances. 
Moreover,  the  compass  proved  unreliable.  Mountains 
full  of  iron-ore  deflected  the  needle,  while  observations 
for  true  bearing  when  most  needed  were  denied  by 
the  generally  hidden  sun. 

Nevertheless,  with  Gregory  and  Garwood  (both 
now  professors  and  F.R.S.)  I  forged  ahead  up  the 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  195 

valley  at  the  back  of  Advent  Bay,  and  round  \vith  its 
bending  to  a  low  pass  which  led  us  into  the  greater 
valley  ending  at  Sassen  Bay — the  valley  up  which  we 
should  have  started  had  ice  conditions  permitted  us  to 
land  at  its  mouth.  We  made  many  side  expeditions 
into  the  hills  to  right  and  left,  and  one  long  reconnais- 
sance over  to  the  wide  and  far-extending  valley  that 
leads  inland  from  the  head  of  Bell  Sound.  That  was 
a  most  fatiguing  adventure  which  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Garwood  and  me.  On  looking  back  this  expedition 
and  the  ascent  of  Aconcagua  are  remembered  as  the 
most  fatiguing  experiences  of  my  wandering  life. 

We  left  camp  after  noon  and  worked  up  a  side 
valley  behind  it,  wading  in  snow  from  the  start,  but 
rarely  able  to  take  a  step  or  two  on  rotten  rock.  When 
the  valley  forked  we  took  the  directer  branch,  and 
thus  in  a  few  hours  reached  a  pass.  Cloud  covered 
us  and  there  was  no  view  in  any  direction.  The  descent 
was  w^orse  than  the  climb.  For  a  long  distance  the 
snow  was  so  soft  that  we  had  to  crawl  gingerly  over 
it  on  all  fours.  A  walker  sank  into  it  up  to  the  waist, 
and  each  step  involved  climbing  out  of  a  hole  and  fall- 
ing into  another.  We  came  down  a  glacier  and  off 
its  bulging  foot  on  to  a  painful  region  of  snow-bogs, 
pools  of  snow  saturated  with  water,  streams  in  ice- 
gullies,  and  the  like.  I  fell  up  to  the  neck  and  out 
of  my  depth  into  a  pool  of  saturated  snow,  and  was 
drenched  to  the  skin  with  icy  water.  It  mattered  the 
less  because  I  was  already  wet  to  the  waist.  B}^  slow 
degrees  we  entered  a  valley  leading  in  the  desired 
direction.      As    we    advanced   conditions   improved   a 


196  Mo2intain  Memories 

little.  After  some  ten  hours  of  this  exhausting  labour 
we  were  fairly  done  up.  Finding  at  last  a  small  patch 
of  dryish  ground  a  little  sheltered  by  banks  from  the 
cold  wind,  we  halted  for  a  few  hours'  rest,  lying  side 
by  side,  wet  to  the  skin  and  wrapped  only  in  a  mackin- 
tosh. Then  it  rained,  cold,  freezing  rain.  We  could 
not  sleep.  On  starting  again,  ten  minutes'  walk 
brought  us  out  into  the  great  valley  we  had  come  to 
see,  and  rewarded  us  with  a  remarkable  view  down 
to  Bell  Sound  and  the  sea  in  one  direction  and  far  up 
toward  the  east  coast  in  the  other.  A  pall  of  cloud 
covered  the  sky.  All  was  white  desolation  upon  land 
and  grey  gloom  on  the  sea.  The  return  was  adventured 
by  a  parallel  valley  and  another  pass.  The  difficulties 
of  the  way  did  not  diminish.  It  became  more  and 
more  painful  to  make  the  needed  observations  for  the 
sketch  survey ;  but  work  that  has  to  be  done  is  done. 
Feet  sodden  for  hours  waxed  tender.  Backs  protested 
against  their  loads.  About  twenty-four  hours  from 
starting  the  second  pass  was  reached.  Far  in  the  dis- 
tance we  could  just  identify  the  site  of  our  camp, 
which  we  must  reach  or  die.  Waist-deep  in  snow  we 
waded  down  toward  a  flat  white  area.  It  proved  to 
be  an  imtraversable  lake  of  snow-slush.  It  was  turned 
with  difficulty  by  wading  one  stream  after  another  of 
a  nameless  compound,  neither  solid  nor  liquid,  neither 
ice,  water,  nor  snow,  but  possessing  the  wetness  of 
water,  the  coldness  of  ice,  and  while  offering  no  sup- 
port to  the  tread  opposing  a  massive  obstruction  to 
the  advancing  foot.  Below  the  slush-lake  came 
another,  and  then  the  valley  floor  with  its  bogs,  its 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  197 

snow-beds,  and  its  streams  to  wade.  Six  hours  from 
the  second  pass  we  regained  our  camp  in  a  condition 
bordering  on  complete  exhaustion.  I  have  made  ex- 
peditions much  longer  than  this  in  point  of  time,  but 
none  in  which  labour  so  severe  had  to  be  so  continu- 
ously maintained  over  so  many  hours. 

Arrived  in  the  main  Sassendal  the  way  toward  the 
east  coast  was  plain  to  see  for  some  distance.  We 
had  but  to  mount  the  left  bank  of  the  valley  to  the 
foot  of  the  hill  that  blocked  it.  The  going  was  fairly 
good— boggy  ground,  of  course,  many  streams  to  be 
waded  and  the  sledges  to  be  carried  over  each.  The 
scenery  was  utterly  tame — a  straight  valley  with  hills 
on  either  hand,  like  the  Downs,  the  bluffs  of  a  plateau. 
Ahead  was  a  glacier,  and  behind  was  the  bay  with 
some  rather  striking  cliffs  beyond.  From  the  bluffs, 
which  we  climbed  at  one  or  two  points,  the  views 
were  more  remarkable  and  comprehensive.  One  such 
oversight  commanding  the  most  recondite  part  of  the 
heart  of  the  island  may  be  alluded  to.  Observe  that 
the  main  island  of  Spitsbergen,  a  shield-shaped  mass, 
is  divided  naturally  into  three  regions,  north,  central 
and  south.  The  first  and  last  are  thoroughly  arctic 
in  character.  They  consist  of  a  heavy  glacial  mantle 
with  mountain  ranges  thrusting  through.  The  central 
portion  is  quite  different.  The  Gulf  Stream  impinges 
on  its  west  coast  and  floods  the  deep  sounds  that  pene- 
trate far  into  the  interior.  The  whole  of  this  region 
was  once  a  table-land  built  up  of  stnicturally  weak 
rocks.  This  table-land  has  been  cut  down  into  deep, 
boggy  valleys  and  rounded  hills  or  remnants  of  plateau, 


igS  Mozmtain  Memories 

not  unlike  the  South  Downs  in  form.  Snow  lingers 
on  the  heights  or  forms  glaciers  at  the  heads  of  valleys, 
but  large  areas  become  snow-free  in  summer,  and  the 
valleys  and  slopes,  though  not  grassy,  bear  sheets  of 
flowering  plants  and  brightly  coloured  mosses.  There 
is  food  for  such  vast  herds  of  reindeer  as  wandered 
all  over  the  country  before  whalers  and  miscellaneous 
hunters  came  up  and  ruthlessly  destroyed  them.  Now 
it  is  only  in  the  less  accessible  valleys  that  reindeer 
can  maintain  themselves.  The  view  in  question  was 
over  this  remotest  part  of  the  interior.  It  was  as  deso- 
late a  prospect  as  the  imagination  can  picture.  All 
the  mountain  forms  were  rounded ;  all  the  valleys  were 
troughs.  Clouds  trailed  about  or  spun  up  like  writhing 
genii  from  the  depths.  Everything  looked  sodden. 
The  very  hill-sides  appeared  to  be,  as  in  fact  they 
are,  sliding  down  into  the  depths.  There  were  mud- 
slides upon  the  slopes.  Mud-laden  rivers  sought  the 
sea.  Frost  and  thaw  were  obviously  carrying  all  before 
them  with  a  rapidity  undreamt  of  by  dwellers  in  tem- 
perate regions.  The  big  valley  was  fed  by  side  valleys 
which  subdivided  and  re-subdivided.  We  looked  down 
upon  a  perfect  maze  of  trenches.  All  were  forlorn ; 
all,  like  the  whole  island,  utterly  uninhabited.  Into 
most  of  them  man  had  never  penetrated.  From  the 
beginning  of  the  world  they  had  been  solitary.  Far- 
ther away  were  beauties  enough — the  lovely  fjord 
framed  in  rocky  peaks  and  great  glaciers,  with  all  the 
hills  steeped  in  a  purple  that  no  dye  can  simulate. 
There  the  sun  shone  on  snow  and  clouds,  making 
the  glaciers    gay    and    sparkling    on   the    water;    but 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  199 

here  in  this  central  region  all  was  fog  and  damp  and 
gloom. 

We  had  intended  to  climb  on  to  the  glacier  at  the 
head  of  the  Sassendal  and  cross  over  it  to  the  east 
coast,  but  on  approach  access  to  it  seemed  difficult, 
and  an  unexpected  valley  opened  out  leading  far  in 
the  direction  of  our  goal.  So  we  turned  up  it  and 
wandered  on,  conditions  for  a  while  improving.  Other 
troubles  were  in  store.  A  glacier  not  many  years  ago 
had  evidently  come  down  a  side  valley  and  blocked  the 
main  depression  up  which  we  were  advancing.  Glaciers 
in  Spitsbergen  advance  and  retreat  suddenly.  One 
year  a  valley  is  open  from  end  to  end.  Ten  years  later 
it  is  barred  right  across  by  the  foot  of  a  glacier  from 
a  tributary  glen  which  will  oppose  a  wall  of  ice  two  or 
three  hundred  feet  high  in  the  way  of  a  traveller.  This 
particular  side-glacier  had  come  and  gone,  but  it  had 
left  the  floor  of  our  valley  in  a  parlous  state  with  moraine 
heaps  and  mounds  of  semi-fossil  ice  and  a  tortured  and 
intricately  meandering  torrent  in  a  difficult  gorge. 
This  rough-and-tumble  area  was  a  mile  or  more  long 
and  took  the  best  part  of  a  day  to  pass  with  ponies  and 
sledges.  Then  came  the  worst  stretch  of  bog  we  had 
encountered,  and  then,  suddenly,  a  great  wall  of  ice 
such  as  I  have  above  described  barring  our  way.  We 
camped  at  the  foot  of  it  on  a  wretched  site  where  tent 
and  baggage  were  presently  invaded  by  an  all- 
penetrating  mud.  It  seemed  as  though  the  east  coast 
would  never  appear.  Climbing  the  hill  above  camp 
the  moment  it  was  pitched,  I  rose  above  the  ice-wall, 
which  proved  to  be  the  side  of  the  end  of  a  great  glacier. 


200  Moitntain  Memories 

When  at  last  I  could  look  over  it  and  beyond — lo ! 
the  eastern  sea  with  Edge  Island  rising  out  of  it  and 
the  ice-pack  stretching  away  to  a  remote  and  clear 
horizon.  I  yelled  down  to  my  friends  in  camp,  then 
climbed  higher  and  higher  and  saw  to  ever  greater 
distances.  Aghard  Bay  just  beyond  the  glacier  was 
sparkling  in  sunlight  and  dotted  over  with  speckles  and 
streaks  of  ice.  The  water  was  blue ;  blue,  too,  were 
the  hills  of  Edge  Island,  and  presently  purple ;  the 
remotest  of  them  ablaze  with  flushes  of  yellow  light. 
Up  and  up  I  went,  leaning  against  a  gale  till  all  the 
nearer  hills  were  disclosed,  domes  of  snow  from  which 
the  big  glacier  descended.  The  limb  of  a  rainbow 
was  standing  upon  the  ice.  It  was  a  view  not  merely 
worth  seeing,  but  well  .worth  having  come  to 
see.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  Next  day  we 
crossed  the  glacier  to  the  east  coast,  spent  some 
hours  there,  and  returned.  We  named  our  pass 
the  Ivory  Gate.*  Four  days  later  we  were  back  by 
the  shore  of  Sassen  Bay,  Ice  Sound.  The  first  crossing 
of  Spitsbergen  was  accomplished. 

For  some  time  longer  we  continued  the  exploration 
of  this  central  area,  working  back  by  land  toward 
Advent  Bay  and  climbing  various  heights,  often  com- 
manding beautiful  views  over  Ice  Sound  and  beyond, 
but  enough  has  been  said  to  indicate  the  character  of 
our  experiences.     While  encamped  beside  the  sound, 

*  Sunt  gcminae  somni  portae,  quarum  altera  fertur 
Cornea,  qua  vcris  facilis  datur  cxitus  umbris  ; 
Altera  candeiiti  perfecta  nitens  clephanto, 
Sed  falsa  ad  coclum  mittunt  insomnia  manes. 

Virgil,  iENEiD    vi.  893. 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  201 

waiting  for  a  belated  boat,  I  wrote  as  follows  on  a 
piece  of  paper  :  "  Thrown  into  Sassen  Bay,  Ice  Fjord, 
Spitsbergen,  on  July  26,  1896,  by  me.  If  found  please 
give  information  to  the  Royal  Geographical  Society, 
London."  I  signed  it,  enclosed  it  in  a  bottle,  and 
cast  it  far  into  the  water.  That  fragment  of  paper  lies 
before  me  as  1  write.  It  was  picked  up  in  April,  1906, 
two  miles  from  land  not  far  north  of  Vesteraalen, 
Norway,  by  a  fisherman,  who  sent  it  to  me. 

We  had  had  enough  of  mud-floundering  and  pony- 
driving  over  unsuitable  ground.  The  proper  time  to 
explore  these  valleys  is  before  the  summer  thaw  sets 
in,  while  the  earth  is  still  hard  and  sledges  can  be  drawn 
over  frozen  snow.  The  little  steamer  I  had  hired  met 
our  reunited  party  at  Advent  Bay,  and  glad  we  were 
to  embark  upon  it,  our  purpose  being  to  visit  all  the 
accessible  coast-region  round  to  the  north  and  see  where 
profitable  inland  investigations  might  be  made  in  future 
to  determine  the  mountain-structure  of  the  island. 

In  blustery  weather  we  steamed  away  from  Advent 
Point,  leaving  the  melancholy  land  behind  with  its 
bleak  purple  shores  sloping  up  to  hills  all  white  wdth 
new-fallen  snow  and  roofed  with  cloud.  Bleared 
gleams  of  misty  sunlight  cast  an  added  pallor  on  patches 
of  the  view.  The  wind  howled  and  rain  drove  in  our 
faces  as  we  passed  out  of  Ice  Sound  and  headed  for 
the  long  narrow  channel  that  divides  the  sunken  moun- 
tain range.  King  Charles  Foreland,  from  the  mainland. 
The  cloud-roof  hid  the  peaks  as  we  passed  the  mouths 
of  gloomy  valleys  and  the  bases  of  massive  buttresses. 
Glaciers  presently  came  down  to  the  water  on  both 


202  Motmtain  Memories 

sides.  Grey  clouds  seemed  to  be  walking  on  the  sea 
on  columnar  limbs  of  falling  snow,  thick  and  heavy. 
Kings  and  Cross  Bays  held  each  its  separate  storm. 
We  did  not  enter  them,  but  forged  northward  in  the 
tumbling  sea  past  the  Seven  Icebergs,  which  are  really 
sea-fronting  glaciers,  past  the  mouth  of  Magdalena  Bay, 
and  so  through  the  South  Gat  into  the  haven  at  the 
north-west  corner  of  Spitsbergen,  which  was  the  pros- 
perous and,  in  summer,  populous  base  of  the  Dutch 
whale-fishery  in  the  seventeenth  century.  We  came 
to  anchor  in  the  passage  between  Danes  and  Amster- 
dam Islands,  just  off  the  cove  where  Andree's  balloon- 
house  was  set  up  and  his  inflated  balloon  was  awaiting 
a  favourable  south  wind  to  float  it  over  the  North  Pole. 
I  landed  and  visited  the  place  and  the  man.  He 
showed  me  his  airship  and  explained  his  plans.  Weather 
prevented  his  attempt  this  year,  but  in  1897  he 
ascended  and  was  never  heard  of  again.  On  the  other 
shore  we  visited  the  last  remnants  of  Smeerenburg 
(Blubbertown),  the  old  Dutch  settlement,  mainly 
marked  by  graves.  There  was  a  feeling  as  of  ancient 
tragedies  in  the  air.  I  remembered  many  a  story  of 
winterings  and  death  in  this  very  place — a  palace  of 
death,  grandly  hedged  about  by  massive  mountains  of 
archtran  rock,  blasted  by  almost  ceaseless  storm,  and 
hidden  in  arctic  night  for  half  the  year.  Large  glacier 
fronts  protruded  into  the  sea ;  a  pallid  white  ice-bhnk 
gleamed  in  the  mist  over  the  inland-ice.  All  around 
was  grey — grey  water,  grey  rocks,  grey  sky,  save  for 
faint  blue  breaks  in  the  glacier-clifl^s  and  one  incredibly 
blue  stranded  ice-castle,  whose  colour,  like  a  rich  note 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  203 

of  music,  seemed  to  throb  in  and  through  the  soft 
harmony  of  greys. 

Northward  we  steamed  to  find  the  edge  of  the 
polar  ice-pack,  past  Foul  Point  and  Vogelsang,  Cloven 
Cliff  and  the  Norways — rock  islands  famous  in  arctic 
adventiu'e.  Many  are  the  years  when  the  pack  comes 
hard  down  upon  this  northern  shore  and  remains  there, 
blocking  all  eastward  passage.  Fortune  favoured  us. 
The  edge  of  the  pack  was  in  80°  13',  and  there  was 
open  water  for  our  advance.  A  wonderful  sight  is  the 
ice-pack,  so  broad,  so  flat  apparently,  so  deathlike  still.- 
Go  within  it  and  you  will  find  that  it  is  alive  and 
moving  and  all  split  up  and  divided  by  lanes  or  leads 
of  water.  We  lay  off  it  for  a  little  while,  then  East- 
ward ho !  along  the  edge  of  it  and  further  north  as 
it  bent  away  to  80°  28'  off  Verlegen  Hook.  Drift 
ice  in  closely  assembled  multitude  of  fragments  had 
to  be  negotiated — a  very  beautiful  experience  because 
of  the  variety  and  grace  of  the  floating  pieces  w^hich 
mimicked  the  forms  of  natural  objects.  The  blue  of 
their  hollows  and  sea-washed  fronts  w^as  a  multifold 
delight.  Seals  slept  on  them  as  on  beds.  After  pass- 
ing the  mouth  of  Hinloopen  Strait  we  held  on  north- 
eastward, with  the  coast  of  North-East-Land  about 
ten  miles  away,  and  its  low-domed  white  interior,  which 
Nordenskjold  crossed,  just  visible  under  its  cloud-cap. 
Black  cliffs  and  rocks  alone  stood  out  from  the  white- 
ness of  this  desolate  land.  The  Seven  Islands  were 
our  next  aim,  not  to  land  on  them,  but  if  possible  to 
pass  them  and  get  round  yet  farther;  but  it  was  not 
to  be.    When  we  came  up  with  them  they  were  packed 


204  Moiintain  Memories 

about  with  ice,  and  farther  advance  was  not  possible. 
We  had,  however,  been  hicky  enough.  Many  a  well- 
found  arctic  expedition,  with  a  j^ear  or  two  at  its  dis- 
posal, had  failed  to  reach  as  far.  Lamont,  in  years  of 
arctic  yachting  and  after  many  attempts,  never  pene- 
trated along  the  north  coast.  We  landed  on  Walden 
Island  and  viewed  the  remains  of  a  hut  built  by  a 
wrecked  arctic  expedition — Wellman's.  From  the 
highest  point  we  looked  far  over  the  sea,  ice-pack, 
and  land — a  memorable  view  beneath  the  lifted  cloud- 
roof.  The  Seven  Islands  displayed  the  lonely  grandeur 
of  their  weather-beaten,  snow-draped  flanks.  The 
crags  of  North-East-Land  and  its  island  outliers 
fronted  the  polar  sea  with  apparently  indomitable 
rocks.  An  ice-blink  answered  for  the  pack  binding 
the  sea.  Northward  the  infinite  plain  stretched  away 
and  away,  who  could  say  how  far  or  what  including? 

There  was  no  time  to  waste,  as  the  pack  was 
coming  down  on  Verlegen  Hook  and  might  cut  us 
off.  We  decided  to  try  and  escape  southward  down 
Hinloopen  Strait.  The  sea  became  utterly  calm,  the 
air  warmer  and  softer.  It  was  like  a  winter's  day  at 
home.  Rain-clouds  swept  their  besoms  over  land  and 
sea,  and  snow  flurries  came  and  passed  like  April 
showers.  A  glacier  front  some  twenty-five  miles  long 
edged  the  first  reach  of  the  long  straiit.  We  marvelled 
at  the  varied  wonders  of  its  cliff  as  we  looked  into  blue 
tunnels  and  grottoes  or  watched  the  bold  spires  and 
clefts  if  haply,  as  several  times  occurred,  we  might 
behold  the  glacier  calve  and  great  masses  fall  from  it 
into  the  sea.     Slowly  we  forged  our  way  against  a 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  205 

powerful  tide,  with  North-East-Land  always  on  our 
left,  its  ice-sheet  delicately  sloping  up  into  softest  mist 
and  blanched  ice-blink  over  all.  The  view  broadened 
down  the  low-sided  strait ;  black  islands  sharply  edged 
in  front,  but  all  else  utterly  vague  and  evanescent. 

Beyond  Cape  Torell  came  the  wider  sea,  and  there 
was  no  ice-blink  ahead.  Right  and  left  the  broad,  cold 
blare  of  light  lay  low  along  the  heavens,  but  southward 
it  mellowed  away.  Then  we  came  among  great  masses 
of  floating  ice,  true  icebergs,  small  in  comparison 
with  those  that  calve  off  Greenland  and  are  seen  by 
Atlantic  passengers,  trifling  snowballs  if  set  against  the 
huge  icefloes  of  the  Antarctic,  but  compared  with  man 
things  great  and  impressive.  The  largest  come  from 
the  south-eastern  end  of  the  inland  ice  of  North-East- 
Land,  and  are  as  big  as  the  hulls  of  considerable  ships. 
They  take  every  fantastic  form  and  are  intricate  with 
fairy  hollows  and  recesses,  jutting  towers  and  over- 
hanging projections.  All  the  hollows  are  blue  and  all 
the  surfaces  not  washed  by  the  sea  are  white.  We 
saw  walruses  resting  on  them ;  seals  raised  their  man- 
like heads  and  shoulders  to  gaze  at  us  out  of  the 
smooth,  grey  sea.  Here  was  arctic  beauty  to  perfec- 
tion. Who  could  sleep  with  such  wonders  revealed 
anew  every  hour?  On  and  on  we  went  with  rising 
hopes,  but  a  southward  exit  was  not  to  be  ours.  We 
turned  aside  to  try  a  passage  through  Heley  Sound, 
which  divides  Barents  Island  from  the  main  land,  but 
that  also  was  closed.  Returning  some  distance  we 
tried  farther  to  the  eastward,  following  the  edge  of 
the  pack.     On  one  side  was  ever  the  calm  sea  with 


2o6  Mountain  Memorze:^ 

the  icebergs  floating  in  it,  on  the  other  the  broad, 
silent  ice-sheet,  bhie-edged,  cracked  here  and  there, 
and  here  and  there  raised  into  long  high  ridges  of  piled 
blue  and  white  masses  where  two  floes  had  been  driven 
together  and  "  screwed  "  their  tortured  edges  up  into 
a  splintered  chaos.  On  we  ran  eastward.  Barents 
and  Edge  Islands  sank  beneath  the  horizon ;  North- 
East-Land  was  all  but  gone.  Then  a  new  land  emerged 
farther  east — the  seldom  seen  and  very  rarely  visited 
Wiehe  Islands,  at  that  time  still  unexplored.  A  dim 
hope  arose  that  we  might  land  on  them  first  among 
explorers,  but  it  was  soon  extinguished.  The  pack 
enveloped  them. 

Our  coal  was  running  low;  we  had  barely  enough 
to  reach  Andree's  ship  for  a  further  supply  and  could 
not  afford  to  delay  an  hour.  Back,  therefore,  we 
returned  by  the  way  w^e  had  come  over  the  hundred 
and  twenty-five  miles  from  Verlegen  Hook ;  back  with 
our  hearts  in  our  throats,  fearing  lest  the  passage  might 
be  closed  rovmd  that  point  also  and  we  shut  off  from 
escape  in  any  direction.  Here  was  a  fine  chance  for 
sleep.  We  rounded  the  fatal  point  and  proceeded 
close  along  the  north  coast,  which  we  had  not  beheld 
as  we  came,  following  the  edge  of  the  pack.  We 
passed  Treurenburg  Bay,  where  French  frigates  over- 
whelmed the  Dutch  whalers  in  a  sea-fight  long  ago,  and 
where,  in  Ilecla  Cove,  Parry  wintered.  As  Wijde  Bay 
opened  we  saw  into  Mossel  Bay,  a  wintering-place  of 
Nordenskjold.  The  usual  cloud-roof  rested  on  the 
mountains  behind  Grey  Hook  and  these  were  white 
down  to  the  sea  with  new-fallen  snow.     Skirts  of  fog 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  207 

trailed  out  from  every  bay  and  inlet,  but  a  brighter 
pallor  spread  over  the  southern  sky.  Cold,  steely 
gleams  came  and  went  in  this  place  and  that.  Seals 
rising  and  di\ing  made  rings  on  the  calm  water.  Busy 
bird-flocks  skimmed  the  surface,  guillemots  with  fish 
in  their  mouths  hurrying  back  to  their  young,  little 
auks  forever  gay,  fulmar  petrels  always  grave,  and  the 
many  feathered  squadrons  of  the  north. 

The  gateway  of  the  frozen  east  thus  safely  passed, 
we  took  stock  of  our  coal  and  ventured  into  Wijde 
Bay,  that  deep  sound  which  runs  so  far  inland  from 
the  north  coast.  Grand'  scenery  presently  replaced 
the  somewhat  uninteresting  northern  reach.  Hill- 
ranges  enclose  it  along  either  bank.  It  is  the  best  part 
of  a  degree  of  latitude  in  length  and  several  miles  wide. 
The  biggest  mountains  in  Spitsbergen  look  down  upon 
its  inmost  eastern  shore,  but  alas !  they  were  hidden. 
We  were  to  behold  them  from  the  inland  ice  twelve 
months  later.  Down  this  long  avenue  we  steamed, 
past  headlands  and  the  mouths  of  valleys  and  the 
crescent-fronts  of  glaciers,  rising  like  walls  of  marble 
and  turquoise  out  of  the  dark  surface  of  the  sound. 
The  boat  was  stopped  over  against  one  of  these,  just 
as  the  sunshine  burst  through  on  the  splintered  ice-cliff 
and  calm  water,  leaving  in  gloom  the  red  riven  crags 
behind.  Stillness  reigned.  Seals  peeped  forth.  Ful- 
mar petrels  were  floating  near  at  hand.  Clouds  on  the 
snow-peaks  divided,  showing  white  ridges  and  sharp 
summits.  A  much-branching  reindeer-valley  opening 
opposite  revealed  in  its  remotest  depth  a  purple  of 
incredible  richness. 


2o8  Alotuttain  Memories 

Where  the  sound  divides  we  turned  up  its  western 
branch    and   presently   landed   on   its   western   shore. 
Had  we  been  properly  equipped  a  long  march  would 
have  taken  us  southward  over  a  low  pass  to  the  head 
of  Dickson  Bay  (a  branch  of  Ice  Sound)  which  our 
companion  Trevor-Battye  had  explored  a  few  weeks 
before.     But  we  had  done  with  land-travel.     After  a 
few  hours'  halt,  all  were  aboard  again,  and  when  I 
awoke  we  were  anchored  off  Andree's  balloon-station 
and  taking  in  coal.     Thence  returning  southward  we 
looked  into   Magdalena  and  Kings  Bays,   passed  the 
mouth  of  Ice  Sound  and  ran  into  Bell  Sound,  the  site 
nowadays  of  industrial  activity  in  connection  with  its 
coal  and  iron  deposits,  for  which  a  great  future  is  pre- 
dicted.    Little  thought  we  then  of  such  matters,  but 
only  of  penetrating  to  the  head  of  the  Low  Sound 
branch  in  order  to  link  up  my  sketch-survey,  made  on 
that   horrible    expedition   with   Garwood,    with    fixed 
points  on  the  map.     The  mouth  of  the  Sound  is  almost 
blocked  by  a  long  narrow  island  of  rock.     The  exiguous 
opening  offers   a  dangerous  piece  of  navigation.     A 
boiling  tide  sweeping  through  it  carried  us  like  a  cork 
in  a  mill-race.     We  were  spun  round  and  cast  this 
way  and  that  by  eddies  or  domes  of  water  surging  up 
from  below ;  but  it  was  soon  over.     The  fjord  within 
was  absolutely   calm.     Our  emergence   was  made   at 
slack   tide.     This    was    our   last    adventure.     We    re- 
turned to  the  base-camp,  packed  up  our  baggage  and 
collections,   and  were  carried  to   Ilammerfest  just  in 
time  to  see  Nansen  land  from  his  wonderful  transpolar 
voyage  in  the  Fram.     Ours  had  been  a  journey  full  of 


The  First  Crossing  of  Spitsbergen  209 

toil  and  discomfort  but  precious  in  the  gifts  of  the 
high  gods.  They  hedged  themselves  about  with  storm 
and  darkness,  but  within  the  pale  they  opened  the 
halls  of  their  secret  palaces  to  the  wanderers  and 
summoned  them  by  winged  messengers.  They  shed 
mysterious  and  wonderful  lights  upon  their  path,  and 
led  them  into  temples  of  ivory  and  marble  and  gold. 
The  glamour  of  the  old  world,  the  world  of  saga  and 
song  and  of  the  great  dead,  was  revealed  to  them, 
and  they  came  back  to  the  cities  of  men  as  with  veiled 
heads  so  that  none  could  know  of  the  glory  from  which 
they  returned. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   INLAND   ICE   OF    SPITSBERGEN 

EARLY  in  the  following  summer  (1897)  Garwood 
and  I,  with  two  Norwegian  sailors,  landed  from  our 
whale-boat  on  the  shore  far  up  Klaas  Billen  Bay,  near 
the  sea-front  of  the  Nordenskjold  glacier.  The  day 
of  our  arrival  was  that  on  which  Andree  went  up  in 
his  balloon  and  disappeared  for  ever  from  the  sight 
of  men.  Klaas  Billen  Bay  is  a  northern  branch  of 
Ice  Sound,  and  you  can  see  across  to  it  from  the  usual 
landing-spit  at  Advent  Point.  Our  purpose  was  to 
drag  our  sledges  up  the  glacier  and  on  to  the  high 
region  of  snowfields  covering  the  whole  interior  of  the 
eastern  part  of  Spitsbergen  north  of  Ice  Sound.  The 
expedition  ,was  very  interesting,  but  far  surpassed  in 
delight  by  what  followed,  and  may  be  dealt  with 
briefly.  The  whole  journey  is  fully  described  in  my 
book,  "With  Ski  and  Sledge  over  Arctic  Glaciers." 
(London.  1898).  It  was  as  delightful  as  it  was  inter- 
esting to  sit  and  watch  the  noble  sea-washed  glacier- 
front  in  all  the  wealth  of  its  colouring  and  the  wonder 
of  its  form,  often  barred  across  w^ith  sunlight  and 
shadow,  throwing  into  rehef  this  and  the  other  icy 
pinnacle  above  some  blue  wall  or  gloom}^  cavern. 
Toward  half-tide  the  ice  cliff  fired  great  guns  along 
all  its  battlcmented  front  in  quick  succession.  To  be 
gazing  in  the  right  direction  at  the  moment  of  a  big 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     211 

fall  was  sheer  good  luck.  Thus  once  I  saw  a  monster 
pinnacle  come  thundering  down.  First,  a  few  frag- 
ments were  crushed  to  right  and  left  near  its  base; 
then  the  whole  tower  sank  vertically,  smashing  up 
within  as  it  fell ;  at  last,  grandly  bending  over,  it  shot 
forward  into  the  bay  in  a  thousand  fragments  great 
and  small.  These  dinged  and  splashed  the  >vater  into 
a  mound  of  spray,  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  high.  Before 
coming  to  rest  they  would  heave  and  roll  about  for  a 
while,  lifting  the  w^ater  upon  their  flanks  and  shaking 
it  off  in  cascades  till  they  lay  still  or  slowly  floated 
away  among  countless  fellows  fallen  before.  Mean- 
while the  circling  waves  thus  generated  would  spread 
and  break  around,  hurling  the  floating  blocks  against 
one  another,  disturbing  the  balance  of  some,  toppling 
them  over  or  splitting  them  up,  and  thus  starting 
smaller  intersecting  rings.  The  widening  undulations 
could  be  traced  afar  off  by  the  stately  courtesy  of  the 
rocking  icebergs.  Finally,  the  great  breakers  would 
come  swishing  along  the  shore,  louder  and  louder  as 
they  approached,  till  they  passed  close  by  the  tent  and 
washed  up  to  where  our  whale-boat  was  lying,  hauled 
just  beyond  their  reach.  Between  the  falls  and  their 
sequence  of  sounds  silence  was  only  broken  by  the 
ceaseless  murmur  of  the  bay  and  the  gentle  soughing 
of  the  ^\^nd. 

Two  days  of  very  severe  labour  carried  our  camp 
to  a  height  of  1,500  feet,  at  the  head  of  the  steep 
tongue  of  the  glacier.  There  was  a  mountain  to  east 
and  west  of  us,  the  slope  we  had  ascended  to  the 
south,  and  the  vast  expanse  of  snowfields  to  the  north. 


212 


Motmtain  Memories 


Storm  kept  us  stationary  for  one  day,  then  for  two 
days  we  journeyed  northward,  always  uphill,  some 
fifteen  miles,  finally  camping  at  a  height  of  nearly 
3,000  feet.  A  dense  fog  had  enshrouded  us  all  the 
time.  Within  it  there  was  nothing,  absolutely  nothing 
to  be  seen  save  ourselves  and  our  sledges.  Fog  above 
and  around  and  snow  below  formed  one  uniform 
sphere  of  whiteness.  I  could  see  my  feet  and  legs, 
but  apparently  standing  upon  nothing.  The  sledges 
seemed  to  lie  on  the  same  fog  that  enveloped  them. 
One  could  feel  the  snow,  but  one  could  not  see  that 
it  was  aught  but  fog.  The  space  between  my  ski  was 
as  light  as  the  zenith.  As  Peary  says,  we  were  blind 
with  wide-open  eyes.  We  advanced,  hour  after  hour, 
approaching  nebula  and  leaving  nebula  behind.  The 
effect  of  the  storm,  the  fog,  and  the  generally  unusual 
surroundings  so  scared  one  of  our  hardy  Norsemen 
that  he  became  utterly  useless  and  ill.  When  wie 
pitched  camp  he  lay  in  his  tent  and  groaned,  becoming 
quite  hysterical  and  swelling  up  in  his  body.  We 
thought  he  was  going  to  die,  but  it  was  mere  funk. 
For  twelve  hours  a  severe  storm  raged.  The  tents 
were  buried  out  of  sight  of  one  another  in  new  snow, 
but  afterward  the  sky  cleared,  and  we  had  a  wonderful 
view  from  the  summit  of  a  snow-dome  about  a  mile 
from  camp.  Fog  unfortunately  hid  the  lower  levels. 
Had  it  lifted,  we  should  have  looked  down  on  to  the 
head  of  the  east  branch  of  Wijde  Bay  and  should  have 
been  able  correctly  to  locate  a  group  of  high  and 
pointed  rock-peaks  which  appeared  in  the  north  and 
have  since  been  proved  to  be  the  highest  in  Spits- 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     213 

bergen,  rising,  I  believe,  to  an  altitude  of  about 
7,000  feet.  All  that  we  could  see  was  the  hollow  in 
which  the  bay  and  the  glacier  at  the  head  of  it  lie, 
the  latter  dropping  away  from  where  we  stood.  East- 
ward a  vast  extent  of  sno\\^elds  and  glaciers  in  white 
valleys  stretched  down  to  the  margin  of  Wybe  Jans 
Water  and  Olga  Strait.  One  more  march  would 
have  solved  many  problems,  but  our  fool  of  a  sailor 
would  not  advance,  and  could  neither  be  left  behind 
nor  carried.  We  were  forced  to  return,  but  our  going 
was  now  in  clear  weather  and  we  could  keep  along 
the  watershed,  gently  downward  sloping.  High  in 
the  hmpid  air  floated  a  dark  blue  roof  of  soft  cloud, 
resting  on  skyey  walls  of  marvellous  colours,  with 
bars  of  stratus  reflecting  golden  sunlight.  Under  the 
hidden  sun  in  the  north  hung  a  reticulated  web  of  gold 
and  Tyrian  purple,  through  which  shafts  of  tender 
light  drooped  like  eyelashes  upon  the  snow.  The 
nevi  swept  away  on  all  sides  in  gentle  curves  and 
domes,  here  greyish- white  with  purple  shadows,  there 
bluish-grey  and  strewn  with  carpets  of  sunshine.  Such 
rocks  as  emerged  were  rich  in  tints,  ruddy  or  orange, 
enforced  by  the  lustrous  atmosphere.  There  was  none 
of  that  sharp  contrast  of  dark  and  white  that  strikes 
a  superficial  observer  in  Alpine  views.  This  panorama 
was  all  colour,  harmonious  without  rift  and  rich  with- 
out monotony.  At  midnight  the  cloud-roof  opened 
in  the  north  and  a  flood  of  sunshine  fell  around  us — 
a  veritable  transfiguration  and  thrilling  glory  which 
cannot  be  told.  Entranced  with  beauty,  we  marched 
on  and  on,  as  in  boundless  space,  with  a  sense  of  free- 


214  Moiintam  Memories 


dom  and  a  joy  in  the  ownership  of  the  whole  universe 
—emotions  that  best  arise  in  the  great  clean  places  of 
the  earth,  where  nothing  lives  and  nothing  grows,  the 
great  deserts  and  the  wide  snowfields.  Green  country 
by  comparison  is  mildewed  land.  Another  day  of  like 
beauty  followed  before  we  had  to  plunge  again  into 
storm  and  fog,  and  thus,  after  eight  days  aloft,  return 
to  our  boat  on  the  shore  of  the  bay  by  the  glacier's 
foot. 

Five  days  later,  carried  by  a  little  steamer,  we 
landed  at  the  head  of  Kings  Bay,  and  formed  a  base 
camp  close  to  the  end  of  the  seven  miles  wide  ice-cliff 
wherewith  the  Kings  Glacier  terminates  all  along  the 
eastern  margin  of  this  arm  of  the  sea.  Magdalena 
Bay  is  called  the  Gem  of  Arctic  scenery,  but  Kings 
and  Cross  Bays,  in  my  opinion,  far  surpass  it.  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  describe  them.  It  was  not  a  bay  we 
came  to  investigate,  nor  the  outcrop  of  excellent  coal 
in  its  south  shore,  but  the  great  glacier  and  the 
mountains  beyond.  From  an  elevation  near  camp  the 
glacier  was  widely  displayed  back  to  its  radiating  snow- 
fields.  Its  lower  part,  which  flows  over  buried  rock- 
islands,  is  broken  into  a  tumult  of  crevasses  and  semes. 
Varying  illumination  on  this  splintered  area  set  fancy 
at  play.  Sometimes  the  broken  ice  looked  like  an 
innumerable  multitude  of  white-robed  penitents,  some- 
times like  a  tented  camp,  sometimes  like  a  frozen 
cataract.  Its  suggestiveness  was  boundless,  its  beauty 
distinguished.  Its  terminal  cliff  was  worthily  framed 
between  mountains  with  shattered  ridges,  steep 
eouloirs,  and  high-perched  glaciers  caught  on  ledges 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     215 

or  steeply  sweeping  down  to  join  the  main  ice-river. 
Farther  back,  where  the  broken  region  ended,  smoother 
and  ever-widening  stretches  led  away  toward  the 
group  of  Dolomite  mountains,  so  prominent  from  the 
sea,  which  the  old  whalers  named  the  Three  Crowns. 
This  group  divides  the  snowfield  into  two  main  arms. 
One,  rising  directly  south-eastward  in  a  straight  line 
from  the  bay,  leads  to  a  pass  and  beyond  it,  in  a  right 
line,  down  to  Ice  Sound.  We  named  this  the  Kings 
Highwaj^  The  other,  and  much  broader  branch,  the 
Crowns  Glacier,  bending  round  to  the  north  and  con- 
tinually widening,  culminates  in  an  area  of  low,  broad 
snow-domes,  whence  an  important  valley  drops  to 
Wood  Bay  in  the  north  coast. 

The  plan  we  immediately  formed  was  to  mount 
first  to  the  Highway  Pass  (2,500  feet),  and  then  to 
explore  the  Crowns.  To  reach  the  former  was  hard 
w^ork  for  four  days.  In  the  first  we  had  to  carry 
everything  across  broken  ice  and  moraines.  In  the 
second  we  must  haul  the  sledges  over  a  wavy  ice- 
surface,  tugging  them  up  short  steep  slopes  and 
checking  them  down  successive  inclines.  They  often 
knocked  us  over  and  oftener  bruised  us  in  their  w^ay- 
ward  descents.  Wave  followed  wave  about  twenty 
yards  apart,  and  the  work  was  heart-breaking.  The 
third  stage  was  over  waterlogged  snow%  into  which 
w^e  sank,  ski,  sledges,  and  all.  Saturated  to  the  knees 
in  freezing  w^ater,  we  had  to  labour  excessively  to 
drag  our  burdens  against  the  resistance  of  the 
unpleasant  compound.  There  were  also  many  wide 
streams  on  the  ice  to  be  crossed.     At  last  we  gained 


2i6  Mountain  Memories 

the  dry  nevi  above,  and  easily  completed  the  ascent 
on  a  day  of  perfect  weather,  which  was  destined  to 
continue.  The  sun,  indeed,  was  quite  hot,  and  we 
gladly  shed  our  warm  and  heavy  wraps.  The  warmth 
changed  the  aspect  of  the  snow-surface.  In  frost  it 
sparkles  in  sunlight  as  though  powdered  with 
diamonds.  On  warm  days  the  diamonds  melt  away. 
The  white  expanse  is  softened  to  the  eye,  and  this 
softening  effect  is  recognised  even  at  great  distances. 
The  reader  may  picture  without  difficulty  the  elements 
of  what  we  beheld  when  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
white  plain  of  the  pass.  In  front  and  behind  were 
long  straight  glaciers  in  line  with  one  another,  hedged 
in  on  either  hand  by  a  range  of  snowy  peaks,  domes, 
rock-needles,  and  pyramids  of  varied  form.  West- 
ward we  looked  down  to  Kings  Bay  and  away  out  to 
sea ;  eastward  down  to  Ice  Sound  and  straight  across  it 
to  Advent  Bay.  This,  then,  was  the  pass  we  had  so 
often  looked  up  at  from  our  base  camp  in  the  pre- 
ceding year.  All  the  muddy  region  of  our  former 
toils  must  be  in  sight  from  the  pass,  but  was  enveloped 
in  the  fog  that  seems  generally  to  haunt  it.  The 
impression  left  upon  me  by  the  view  was  like  that 
from  the  Hispar  Pass,  but  the  many  wonderful  sights 
that  swiftly  followed  have  blunted  recollection. 

After  a  day  or  two  spent  in  ski-runs  from  the  pass 
we  bent  away  to  explore  the  Crowns  group.  The 
week  thus  occupied  ,was  richer  in  sights  of  natural 
beauty  beheld  under  almost  perfect  conditions  than 
any  spell  of  time  I  can  remember.  From  Kings  Bay 
the  Three   Crowns  look  like  a  complete  group,   but 


V. 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     217 

they  are  only  the  outhers  of  other  and  higher 
mountains — the  Pretender,  the  Exile,  the  Diadem, 
and  so  forth.  We  climbed  several  of  these.  Our  first 
camp  was  pitched  in  an  enchanted  hour.  Fog  filled 
the  bays  and  covered  the  lowest  levels,  but  all  else 
proclaimed  the  glory  of  the  sun.  There  is  nothing 
more  beautiful  than  a  sunlit  sea-fog  beheld  from 
above.  Its  whiteness  makes  purest  snow  grey.  It 
moves  so  gracefully,  gliding  inland  with  outstretched 
arms  or  casting  off  islands  that  wander  fitfully. 
Enchanting  to  look  upon  are  these  sea-fairies.  They 
came  up  boldly  at  first,  then  faltered,  and  turned 
back  to  remain  among  the  seracs  and  crevasses.  Only 
a  few  floated  up  the  glacier  or  slumbered  as  bright 
islands  in  hollow  places.  Faint  beds  of  variously 
transparent  vapour,  horizontally  stratified,  barred  the 
craggy  mountains  of  Cross  Bay.  We  were  at  the  sing- 
ing level  of  the  ice,  where  waters  trickle  and  tinkle 
in  tiny  ice-cracks,  ripple  in  rivulets,  roar  in  moulins, 
and  hum  in  the  faint  base  of  remoter  torrents.  It  is 
on  inclines  that  these  sounds  arise.  The  snow-bogs 
are  silent.  This  evening  the  w^aters  were  full  of  music. 
Birds  in  strong  flight  swept  by  on  softly-beating 
wdngs.  The  air  was  absolutely  still.  I  sat  alone  in' 
the  tent  door  intoxicated  with  delight.  At  such  times 
Nature  gathers  her  lover  into  herself,  transforming 
his  self-consciousness  into  consciousness  of  her.  The 
landscape  becomes  the  visible  garment  of  a  great  per- 
sonality whereof  he  himself  is  a  part.  Ceasing  to 
think,  while  Nature  addresses  him  through  eveiy 
sense,  he  receives  direct  inspiration  from  her.  The 
o 


2i8  Mountain  Memories 

passage  of  time  is  forgotten  in  such  nirvana,  and  bliss 
is  approximated  if  not  attained. 

The  cHff-face  of  the  Pretender,  2,000  feet  clear, 
looked  down  upon  our  camp.     Its  foundations  are  a 
contorted  overhanging  mass  of  ruddy  archgean  rocks, 
splashed  with  golden  lichen  and  lined  by  grassy  ledges 
whereon  birds  nest.     Green  sandstone  builds  the  next 
storey,  then  a  dark  red  stratum,   both  with  sloping 
profile.    The  top  is  a  cap  of  pink  dolomite,  horizontally 
stratified.     This  rose-pink  cliff  in  the  wonderful  air, 
with   its   level    beds   of   orange    and   other   tints   like 
courses  of  masonry,  is  an  object  of  rarest  beauty,  the 
highest  note  of  the  rich  chord  of  colour  presented  by 
this  mountain-face.    The  whole  cliff  is  full  of  the  nests 
of  birds  :   fulmar  petrels  on  the  lower  ledges,  grave, 
reverend,   and   silent ;    higher   up,   merry   little    awks 
sitting    close   together   in   rows    sunning   their    white 
bosoms ;    on   every  jutting   pinnacle    a   glaucous  gull 
ever   on   the    watch.     Stone-avalanches   falling    down 
their  normal  ruts  do  not  disturb  them,   but  a  stray 
stone  unorthodoxly  propelled  sends  them  all  forth  in 
their  hundreds  and  their  thousands,  filling  the  air  with 
protests,  the  fulmars  swooping  around,  the  little  awks 
darting  forth  horizontally  straight  out  and  back,  the 
glaucous    gulls    leisurely    floating    away,    their    white 
plumage    scarcely    more    solid   than    the   glowing    air 
sustaining  their  poise. 

A  scramble  up  this  peak  led  to  a  commanding 
point  of  view,  for  it  overlooked  the  whole  expansive 
neve  of  the  Crowns  Glacier,  as  it  were  a  marble  pave- 
ment of  three  hundred  square  miles  beneath  the  blue 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     219 

dome  of  heaven,  spreading  away  to  an  undulating 
outline  with  remoter  snow-plateaux  and  mountain 
summits  yet  farther  off.  The  surface  was  lined,  like 
the  veins  of  a  leaf,  by  the  many-branching  channels 
of  its  melted  waters.  Blue  shadows  toned  the  white 
in  crevassed  areas.  Everywhere  the  delicate  undula- 
tion, by  varying  the  amount  of  light  reflected  to  the 
eye,  produced  a  tender  play  of  tone  within  narrow 
limits  from  brightest  to  darkest.  I  have  called  it  a 
pavement,  but  it  was  visibly  a  flowing  stream,  not  a 
stagnant  accumulation,  the  curves  of  flow  plain  to  see. 
Thus  a  sense  of  weight  and  volume  was  added  to  the 
effect  of  boundless  expanse.  This  noble  flood  of  ice, 
narro\\ing  between  our  peaks  and  the  piked  crags  of 
the  Cross  Bay  mountains  opposite,  bent  beneath  the 
dazzling  sea-mist  and  so  passed  out  of  sight. 

The  summit  of  a  peak  central  to  this  dolomite 
group  commands  on  all  sides  a  foreground  remarkable 
for  colour.  The  distance  everywhere  was  white — 
glacier  and  low-lying  sea-mist — but  the  foreground 
was  filled  by  the  golden  Crowns  above  their  purple 
slopes.  All  the  rock  in  sight  flamed  in  yellow,  orange, 
purple,  or  red.  The  nearer  snowfields  were  patched 
with  sapphire  lakes.  All  Spitsbergen  was  displayed 
from  this  high  point.  We  could  even  identify  the 
remote  Horn  Sunds  Tind,  a  hundred  miles  away,  at 
the  southern  extremity  of  the  island.  The  yet  higher 
peaks  near  Wijde  Bay  were  also  beheld.  The  atmo- 
sphere was  remarkably  clear;  not  often,  I  suspect, 
can  such  distances  be  pierced  by  the  sight  through  the 
dense  and  moisture-laden  arctic  air. 


220  Mountain  Memories 

I  have  said  little  about  the  details  of  the  ice 
scenery  of  these  glaciers  of  the  far  north,  not  because 
there  is  little  to  say,  but  because  there  is  so  much. 
The  glacier  at  the  foot  of  the  Crowns  was  full  of 
wonders.  A  striking  effect  was  produced  by  a  blood- 
red  torrent,  dyed  by  the  disintegration  of  local  sand- 
stones, flowing  in  a  deep  blue-sided  trough  over  the 
white  ice.  It  was  not  far  from  our  tents,  and  I  often 
walked  along  it,  coming  thus  to  the  large  moulin  into 
which  it  took  its  final  plunge.  Not  far  away  was  a 
wide  ice-tunnel,  which  had  once  been  a  crevasse  full 
of  water.  The  water  had  frozen  on  the  surface  to 
the  depth  of  two  or  three  feet  before  the  pool  had 
been  partly  drained.  Lateral  pressure  narrowing  the 
crevasse  had  bent  the  frozen  roof  into  a  perfect  barrel 
vault.  I  climbed  through  a  natural  doorway  into  this 
grotto  and  stood  upon  a  ledge.  Sunlight  glimmered 
through  the  crystal  roof ;  the  walls  were  white ;  the 
indigo  depths  of  the  water  formed  the  floor.  We 
looked  into  many  such  fairy  palaces. 

After  a  fortnight  aloft  in  this  world  of  wonders 
we  returned  to  lower  levels,  plunging  beneath  the  bed 
of  fog,  and  thus  regaining  the  base  camp.  The  fog 
was  so  thin  that  the  sun  shone  through  gaps  in  it  upon 
the  glacier's  terminal  cliff,  striping  it  in  vertical  bands 
of  light  and  colour.  There  were  stripes  of  purple, 
violet,  green,  and  blue,  made  by  stains  of  rock-powder 
or  by  new  fractures  manifesting  the  transparency  of 
the  mass,  all  diminished  or  enforced  as  the  play  of 
light  decreed.  Jagged  hills  looked  down  through  holes 
or   behind  veils  of  mist.     All   was   fairy -like  beyond 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     221 

the  mirror  of  the  cahn  bay.  The  floating  ice-blocks 
sometimes  stood  out  white  against  a  purple  background 
and  dark  sky,  sometimes  dark  against  a  white  curtain 
of  mist ;  sometimes  they  glittered  behind  a  vaporous 
veil.  The  water  was  now  dark,  like  lead,  now  bright 
as  burnished  steel.  There  was  continual  change,  with 
small  visible  cause  for  change.  Into  this  magical 
region  of  calm  water  and  pure  ice  we  rowed  in  search 
of  new  scenes,  new  beauty,  new  delights. 

We  passed  first  through  a  bed  of  water  so  closely 
covered  with  broken  ice  that  way  had  to  be  made  by 
pushing  the  fragments  asunder.    They  were  of  all  sizes 
and  colours.     Surfaces  that  had  been  exposed  to  the 
air  for  a  time  were  white.     Others,  newly  cloven  or 
till  recently  submerged,  were  blue  or  green.     There 
were  pink  pieces  dusted  over  with  sandstone  powder 
from  the  Crowns.     Most  of  the  small  fragments  were 
clear  like  crystal.    Sunshine  now  lay  on  the  still  water. 
The  glacier-cliff  along  which  we  rowed  was  mirrored 
in  it.     It  frequently  calved ;  the  resulting  waves  rattled 
the  ice   about  us,    and  the  booming  thunder  echoed 
among    the    hills.      Farther    away    w^e    came    among 
countless  floating  bergs  of  large  size.     We  passed  by 
devious    ways    along    channels    between   them,    often 
being  so   entirely   surrounded   as   to  seem  on   a  lake 
built  all  about  with  ice-castles.     Some  were  hollowed 
into  caverns,  with  walls  thin  enough  to  let  the  light 
of  the  low-hanging  midnight  sun  shine  through.     One 
of  these,  coming  directly  between  us  and  the  sun,  was 
resplendent  with  an  opalescent  shimmer,  finely  con- 
trasting with  the  blueness  of  its  shadowed  side.    Deep 


222 


Moimiam  Memories 


within  the  crystaUine  wall  shone  a  host  of  sparkling 
points.  The  evening  was  calm,  mellow,  and  clear.  A 
single  wave  of  mist  poured  over  a  mountain-pass  with 
a  rainbow  mantling  on  its  shoulder. 

Such  experiences  filled  a  couple  of  days.  When 
we  had  shot  away  our  last  cartridge  and  eaten  our 
last  biscuit,  the  belated  steamer  that  was  to  fetch  us 
put  in  and  carried  us  off  just  in  time.  We  had  our- 
selves conveyed  to  Goose  Haven  in  Horn  Sound,  the 
southernmost  bay  in  Spitsbergen,  and  there  left  for 
a  final  week.  Never  once  in  that  time  did  the  bed  of 
cloud  lift  far  off  the  sea.  We  were  buffeted  by  storms 
and  so  wearied  by  inaction  that  one  day  we  set  off 
inland  to  attempt  a  climb.  Our  camp  was  only  a  mile 
or  two  from  the  foot  of  the  famous  Mount  Hedgehog 
of  the  old  whalers,  the  Horn  Sunds  Tind  of  the  Scan- 
dinavians. One  of  the  purposes  of  our  visit  to  these 
parts  was  to  climb  that  mountain.  Thus,  in  despair, 
Garwood  and  I  set  forth,  leaving  our  camp  and  boat 
upon  the  shore.  We  had  to  guide  ourselves  in  the 
dense  fog  by  compass  and  the  trend  of  the  glacier.  To 
our  delight,  as  wt  rose  the  cloud-roof  became  thinner ; 
holes  appeared  in  it;  it  faded  into  a  veil  through 
which  the  ghosts  of  peaks  could  be  discerned.  At  last 
our  heads  emerged  above  the  floor  of  mist,  and  there, 
before  us  in  startling  clearness,  rose  the  great  wall  of 
our  mountain  fronting  us  and  the  sea.  It  was  a 
moment  of  staggering  emotion.  The  hour  was  near 
midnight,  two  days  before  the  sun*s  first  autumnal 
setting.  Its  orb,  half  buried  in  the  fog,  flooded  the 
ice-dusted    cliff    with    crimson,     so    that    the    rocks 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     223 

resembled  glowing  coals,  the  snow-domes  silken 
cushions.  We  were  rising  on  to  a  low,  outlying  emin- 
ence connected  with  the  mountain  by  a  ridge.  The 
climb  w^e  had  to  make  was  fully  revealed  before  us 
from  bottom  to  top.  There  was  our  peak  with  a  steep 
buttress  coming  right  toward  us ;  in  fact  the  ridge  w^e 
stood  on  was  its  continuation.  To  the  right  of  that, 
as  we  looked,  was  a  long  steep  couloir,  narrowing  as 
it  rose.  We  had  to  climb  this  couloir  to  the  summit 
crest  and  to  follow  along  that  to  the  top. 

The  surface  of  the  sea  of  cloud  upon  which  we 
now  began  to  look  down  was  evenly  undulating,  the 
crests  of  its  motionless  waves  being  pink,  the  troughs 
filled  w^ith  blue  shadows.  This  cloud-floor  reached  out 
westward  to  the  remote  horizon,  a  most  lovely  sight. 
The  sunset  effect  lingered  on  it  and  in  the  sky  during 
the  five  hours  of  our  ascent. 

On  approaching  the  foot  of  the  couloir  we  were 
mystified  by  a  sound  as  of  sibilant  singing  that  came 
from  all  over  the  mountain.  Sometimes  we  thought  it 
might  arise  from  waterfalls;  but  that  was  impossible, 
for  everything  was,  and  for  days  had  been,  bound  in 
the  bonds  of  frost.  When  we  were  in  the  couloir  the 
explanation  was  evident.  I  have  called  the  cliff  ice- 
dusted,  for  so,  from  the  distance,  it  appeared ;  but  on 
closer  approach  we  saw  that  the  ice  on  the  rocks  was 
not  dust,  but  a  formation  resembling  feathers.  These 
feathers  were  only  an  inch  or  two  long  low  down, 
but  near  the  top  they  were  splendid  plumes  eighteen 
inches  long  or  more,  and  of  loveliest  forms,  like  ostrich 
feathers  ghttering  with  diamond  dust.    The  ice-plumes 


224  Alountain  Memories 

did  not  hang  like  icicles,  but  stood  out  straight  from 
the  rocks,  pointing  right  into  the  eye  of  the  gale 
that  had  fashioned  them.  They  were  built  up  of 
fine  snow-crystals  wherewith  the  laden  wind  had 
bombarded  the  rocks,  thus  fashioning  the  feathers 
outward  horizontally.  A  year  later  I  saw  plenty  more 
examples  of  the  same  phenomenon  on  the  storm- 
beaten  mountains  of  Tierra  del  Fuego.  The  storm 
over  and  the  temperature  rising,  the  feathers  were 
giving  way  and  falling  all  over  the  steep  face  of  the 
mountain.  The  leverage  of  their  overgrown  length 
detached  them,  and  one  brought  down  many  beneath 
it.  Smashing  into  fragments  as  they  fell,  they  filled 
the  air  with  that  sibilant,  rushing  sound.  Throughout 
the  ascent  we  had  to  nm  the  gauntlet  of  these  missiles 
and  were  often  hit,  and  hit  hard,  but  never  so  severely 
that  it  mattered,  for  they  varied  in  size  from  a  hazel- 
nut to  a  hen's  ^gg,  and  the  eggs  were  rare.  For- 
tunately they  kept  close  to  the  slope,  and  seldom  flew 
by  higher  than  our  waists. 

After  crossing  two  well-bridged  hergschrunds  we 
attacked  the  couloir,  Garwood  leading.  Frost  held  the 
loose  stones  in  place  so  that  none  fell,  but  in  warmer 
weather  falling  stones  must  be  common  in  this  couloir, 
raking  every  possible  line  of  ascent.  Step-cutting  was 
continuous  from  the  start,  at  first  in  snow,  presently 
in  hard  blue  ice.  We  kept  the  rocks  close  on  our 
left,  and  could  sometimes  advance  a  step  or  two  by 
jamming  the  foot  into  the  chink  between  ice  and  rock. 
Such  relief  was  rare.  About  five  hundred  ice-steps 
had  to  be  cut.     Garwood  made  them  small  and  far 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     225 

apart;  I  enlarged  them  into  shelves  for  the  descent. 
The  view,  when  we  turned  round  to  look  at  it,  was 
restricted  by  the  jutting  walls  of  the  couloir.  Only  the 
pink  and  blue  cloud-pavement  appeared  between  them, 
and  as  the  sun  swung  round  from  north  toward  east, 
the  bold  blue  shadow  of  our  peak  flung  afar  upon  it. 
When  w^e  were  high  up,  approaching  the  final  crest, 
the  shadow  of  the  summit  became  tipped  with  red. 
As  we  mounted  yet  higher  this  red  tip  developed  into 
four  concentric  rainbows  lying  on  the  clouds  in  the 
remote  distance  like  a  halo  round  the  mountain's  head. 
There  also  developed  two  radiantly  white  bands  or 
roads  of  brightness,  stretching  out  to  the  horizon, 
directly  away  from  us,  one  on  either  side  of  the  peak's 
shadow,  each  making  an  angle  of  about  37°  with  a 
line  from  the  eye  to  the  centre  of  the  rainbows.  The 
rest  of  the  cloud-floor  was  still  blue  and  pink,  fading 
to  blue-grey  as  the  sun  mounted. 

The  higher  we  rose  the  steeper  became  the  couloir, 
the  harder  the  ice,  the  grimmer  the  cold.  The  distance 
from  the  glacier  increased.  To  look  down  upon  it 
was  like  looking  down  a  wall.  The  sky-line  did  not 
seem  correspondingly  to  approach,  but  at  last  we  were 
plainly  nearing  a  strip  of  rock,  above  on  our  right, 
which  reached  down  into  the  ice-slope  from  the  final 
crest.  We  cut  a  long  staircase  diagonally  across  to 
the  rocks  up  a  yet  steeper  ice-slope  than  any  before. 
They  proved  to  be  loose  screes  encumbered  with  ice. 
By  them  we  gained  the  final  ridge,  a  knife-edge  of 
snow  of  the  giddiest  description,  with  a  fall  of  3,000 
feet  on  either  hand.     Here  we  entered  the  sunshine. 


226  Mountain  Memories 

and  the  eastward  view  was  revealed.  We  scarcely 
regarded  it,  having  our  feet  to  look  to  as  we  trod 
along  the  very  crest  of  the  thread-like  snow  ridge, 
stamping  it  down  till  it  was  broad  enough  to  stand 
on.  Here  and  there  overhanging  cornices  had  to  be 
avoided,  but  only  care  was  required ;  there  was  no 
real  difficulty.  The  summit-rock  was  a  plumb  vertical 
wall  perhaps  fifteen  feet  high.  It  w^as  cloven  in  half 
from  top  to  bottom  by  a  crack  just  wide  enough  for 
thin  men  to  squeeze  through  sideways.  A  ledge 
beyond  gave  easy  access  to  the  highest  point,  a  rock 
on  which  we  laid  our  hands.  It  was  much  too  sharp 
to  carry  a  stone-man,  and  there  were  no  loose  stones 
wherewith  to  build  one. 

The  entire  panorama  was  buried  beneath  the  floor 
of  cloud,  save  toward  Barents  Land,  which  was  clear, 
and  so  was  the  northern  part  of  Wybe  Jans  Water, 
on  w^hich  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  on  the  long  east 
coast  of  the  mainland  stretching  in  the  same  direction. 
Everywhere  else  were  only  peaks  rising  like  golden 
islands  out  of  a  silver  sea.  A  multitudinous  throng 
of  mountains  crowded  in  the  north  beyond  Ice  Sound, 
the  Crowns  among  them,  but  we  could  not  identify 
any  particular  point.  The  prominent  feature  in  the 
foreground  was  the  continuing  rock  arete  on  which 
we  stood ;  it  trended  zigzag  northward,  rearing  itself 
into  jagged  and  precipitous  peaks.  A  higher  point  is 
the  summit  of  a  separate  peak  that  stands  just  south 
of  Horn  Sound.  This  is  the  true  Horn  Sunds  Tind. 
The  name  Mount  Hedgehog  may  be  kept  for  our 
mountain,  which  is  perhaps  forty  feet  lower  than  the 


The  Inland  Ice  of  Spitsbergen     227 

other.  Ice-feathers  profusely  decorated  the  whole 
ridge  and  glittered  in  the  sunshine.  The  effect  of 
this  narrow  rock-ridge,  backed  against  the  bright 
effulgence  of  the  cloudy  sea  and  its  emergent  islands, 
was  enhanced  for  us  by  the  sense  of  standing  high 
and  alone,  for,  save  along  the  rocky  knife-edge,  the 
mountain  fell  from  our  feet  with  such  abruptness  as  to 
seem  practically  vertical.  It  was  more  like  looking 
from  a  balloon  than  from  a  point  on  the  solid  earth. 

The  height  of  this  mountain  is  only  about  4,500 
feet,  whereof  3,000  feet  intervene  between  the  summit 
and  the  foot  of  the  couloir.  As  a  climb,  therefore,  it 
is  about  as  long  as  the  Aiguille  Verte  in  the  Mont 
Blanc  range,  and  of  equal  or  superior  difficulty.  The 
descent  offered  nothing  noteworthy.  We  were  back 
in  camp  after  an  absence  of  fourteen  hours.  A  couple 
of  days  later  the  steamer  looked  in  and  took  us  on 
board.  That  was  the  end  of  my  Spitsbergen  explora- 
tions. The  wonders  and  beauties  we  beheld  in  this 
northern  archipelago  are  precious  in  memory,  but 
they  were  attained  by  labours  which  I  should  not  care 
to  repeat  and  are  by  no  means  adequately  indicated 
in  the  foregoing  pages.  Fortunately  one  forgets  the 
pain  and  remembers  the  joy  with  lasting  thankfulness. 


CHAPTER  XX 


THE    BOLIVIAN    ANDES* 


TOWARD  the  middle  of  August,  1898,  I  landed  at 
Callao,  the  port  of  Lima,  with  two  Valtournanche 
guides,  A.  Maquignaz  and  Louis  Pellissier.  We  had 
made  a  leisurely  voyage  from  England,  and  I  had 
steeped  myself  in  the  glory  of  tropical  vegetation  in 
Hayti,  Jamaica,  and  on  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  en 
route.  The  contrast  between  this  fertility  and  the 
desert  coast  of  South  America,  south  of  Ecuador,  was 
thus  far  the  prominent  feature  of  our  experiences. 
At  Guayaquil  I  had  religiously  sought  the  mound  of 
Santa  Ana,  which  Whymper  daily  visited  on  the  look- 
out for  a  distant  view  of  Chimborazo,  but  that  famous 
mountain  hid  itself  from  me  as  from  him.  It  is,  in 
fact,  most  rarely  to  be  seen  from  Guayaquil.  Old 
inhabitants  told  me  they  had  never  seen  it.  Yet  on 
two  later  visits  I  saw  it  from  the  sea,  clear  from  base 
to  summit.  Lima,  at  the  time  of  year  of  my  visit, 
was  covered  by  a  level  roof  of  cloud,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  cloud-roofs  of  Spitsbergen.  Its  lower  surface 
was  a  few  hundred  feet  above  the  roofs,  its  top  at  a 
level  of  about  5,000  feet.  Month  after  month  this 
blanket  lies  inert  over  the  country.     There  is  just  a 

*  This  journey  is  described  in  my  book  "  The  Bolivian  Andes.  A  record 
of  Climljing  and  Exploration  in  the  Cordillera  Real  in  the  years  1898  and 
19U0."     (1901.). 

228 


The  Bolivian  Andes  229 

clear  space  of  sky  visible  close  to  the  sea-horizon, 
through  which  the  sun  at  its  setting  peeps  for  a  few 
moments  on  the  edge  of  the  sudden  night.  Just  then 
walls,  fields,  and  desert  ground  are  flooded  with  pink 
— a  brief  delight. 

The  day  after  landing  I  made  my  first  mountain 
ascent  in  South  America,  but  it  was  by  train,  from 
sea-level  to  the  summit  of  the  Oroya  Pass,  which  is 
a  little  higher  than  Mont  Blanc.  This  is  the  highest 
railway  in  the  world.  The  start  was  in  drizzly  and 
depressing  weather.  The  Peruvians  wrapped  their 
heads  and  mouths  in  shawls.  The  train-load  was  a 
miserable  company.  At  5,000  feet  we  came  out  into 
sunshine  and  began  a  steeper  ascent.  Cheerfulness 
invaded  the  crowd,  and  every  head  turned  to  the 
views.  The  valley  narrowed ;  patches  of  snow  came 
in  sight  aloft;  knobs  of  rock  protruded  through  the 
debris  slopes,  and  the  great  knees  of  the  hills  impended 
overhead.  At  10,000  feet  the  company  became  very 
silent,  and  one  after  another  was  overcome  by  moun- 
tain sickness  till  few  remained  immune.  Uncanny 
sounds  were  heard  in  every  carriage,  and  heads  pro- 
truded from  the  windows.  The  ascent  steepened 
and  we  came  to  zigzags.  At  the  end  of  each  the 
engine  had  to  be  changed  from  one  end  of  the  train 
to  the  other.  There  were  corkscrew  tunnels  and 
spider-legged  bridges  over  ravines,  curves  up  side- 
valleys,  circumventings  of  protruding  bosses — in  fact, 
every  contrivance  for  getting  uphill  by  a  steady  grade 
of  4  in  100.  The  higher  we  rose  the  brighter  was  the 
sunshine,  the  fresher  the  air,  and  the  steeper  the  Hne. 


230 


Mountain  Memories 


Some  halts  were  caused  by  rocks  fallen  on  the  rails, 
a  frequent  and  expected  event. 

Up  to  about  12,000  feet  the  hill-sides,  where  suit- 
able, were  covered  with  terraced  fields  of  ancient 
Inca  construction,  elaborate  as  those  of  Hunza  and 
altogether  similar.  Most  of  them  seem  now  to  be 
abandoned  and  the  canals  that  irrigated  them  become 
unserviceable.  Higher  up  we  came  to  grazing  alps 
and  an  opener  valley.  Above  13,500  feet  I  felt  a  httle 
dizzy,  a  tension  across  the  crown  of  the  head,  tingling 
in  the  soles  of  the  feet  as  though  on  velvet — all  trifling 
sensations  which  lasted  for  an  hour.  We  passed 
caravans  of  llamas  carrying  loads.  Patches  of  snow 
lay  about.  Rocks  were  rounded  by  old  glaciers,  and 
a  snow-peak  came  in  sight.  Through  a  tunnel  we 
emerged  on  the  top  into  sunshine,  and  the  snowy 
Cordillera  greeted  us.  The  ascent  had  taken  nine 
hours. 

Quitting  the  train,  I  seated  myself  on  a  waiting 
hand-car,  with  a  one-armed  attendant,  and  in  five 
minutes  we  were  racing  back  down  the  same  tunnel, 
urged  only  by  gravitation.  In  the  darkness  the 
ground  seemed  to  be  sliding  back  beneath  us.  A 
speck  of  fight  came  in  view  ahead — the  tunnel's  eye. 
Like  a  bomb  from  a  mortar  we  burst  forth  into  the 
day.  The  kilometre  posts  flew  by  like  a  raihng !  We 
swung  round  corners  and  plunged  into  and  out  of  the 
night  of  tunnels.  These  when  curved  seemed  to  screw 
about  us.  A  steeper  slope  came ;  the  landscape  shot 
up  on  either  hand.  Some  llamas  strayed  on  the 
track ;   we  missed  them  by  the  breadth  of  a  fleece. 


The  Bolivian  Andes  231 

We  followed  the  margin  of  giddy  cliffs  and  shot  over 
unpaved  bridges  with  dizzying  depths  between  the 
rails.  Bang !  went  a  wheel  against  a  stone  on  the 
line.  The  car  leapt,  but  fell  back  upon  the  rails.  At 
the  end  of  each  zigzag  we  had  to  dismount  and  turn 
over  the  points,  then  to  proceed  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. It  would  be  easy  to  overshoot  the  end.  A 
train  full  of  revolutionaries  once  did  so,  and  fell  a 
clear  2,000  feet.  The  handle  of  the  brake  was  found 
on  the  other  side  of  the  valley  still  grasped  by  a  human 
arm. 

The  evening  shadow  climbed  the  hills.  Narrow 
gorges  between  tunnel  and  tunnel  were  roofed  with 
pink  cloud.  At  the  Infernillo  a  spider-like  bridge 
connects  two  corkscrew  tunnels  facing  one  another 
from  vertical  cliffs.  We  flashed  through  the  sandwich 
of  light.  Solid  night  came  on  with  tropical  sudden- 
ness. There  was  no  moon,  but  Jupiter  and  Venus  in 
conjunction  cast  a  clearly-marked  shadow.  The  Milky 
Way  shone  brighter  than  I  could  remember.  Meteors 
darted  across  the  sky.  Summer  lightning  lit  up  the 
hill-tops.  Down  and  down  we  went  till  the  slope 
eased  off  at  Matucana,  where  we  stopped  for  the 
night.  Next  morning  we  trundled  down  to  Lima 
along  a  gentle  incline.  ^— • 

The  railway  journey  from  Mollendo  to  Lake 
Titicaca  climbs  over  a  pass  (14,666  feet)  only  about 
1,000  feet  lower  than  the  Oroya.  It  is  a  far  less 
dramatic  ascent.  The  lake  lies  at  12,516  feet  above 
sea-level.  It  is  one  hundred  miles  long  and  fourteen 
times  the  area  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva.     Sorrowful  is 


232 


Motmtain  Memories 


the  aspect  of  its  shores  except  between  December 
and  May,  after  the  rainy  season.  It  Ues  in  the  long 
depression  between  the  two  parallel  Cordilleras,  the 
coast  range  mainly  volcanic,  and  the  snowy  range  of 
older  rocks,  which  is  the  Cordillera  Real.  When  the 
steamer  was  well  out  on  the  lake  the  famous  mountain 
Illampu  came  into  sight,  eighty  miles  off  beyond  the 
water-horizon.  The  sun  was  shining  upon  it.  The 
side  exposed  did  not  offer  any  easy  line  of  ascent,  and 
the  nearer  we  approached  it  the  worse  it  looked.  We 
reached  the  Bolivian  port  of  Chililaya,  at  the  far  end 
of  the  lake,  as  the  sun  was  setting,  forty-four  days 
after  leaving  London.  Next  day  we  drove  in  a  crazy 
"tilbury,"  behind  relays  of  four  galloping  beasts, 
forty  miles  over  a  very  bad  road  to  La  Paz,  Bolivia's 
capital.  The  road  lay  along  the  undulating  and,  at 
this  time  of  year,  barren  and  brown  surface  of  the 
high  plateau  or  Puna,  and  ran  parallel  to  the  sno^vy 
Cordillera.  Its  peaks  were  generally  visible  over  foot- 
hills to  the  east.  Some  were  fine  in  form,  but  we 
were  on  the  wrong  side  of  them  for  good  effect.  They 
rose  but  from  6,000  to  9,000  feet  above  the  plateau, 
and  the  lowest  half  of  that  was  covered  by  foot-hills. 
In  aspect  they  are  rather  second-rate  Alps,  and  there 
is  only  one  line  of  them.  They  should  be  seen  from 
the  east,  rising  in  a  great  wall  of  some  16,000  feet 
out  of  a  base  of  tropical  forest.  That  is  their  splendid 
side.     I  only  once  looked  down  it  and  once  up. 

Now  the  journey  to  La  Paz  is  made  by  train  from 
the  lake.  When  one  drove,  the  arrival  was  dramatic. 
Illampu   had   long   been  left  behind;    Illimani's  head 


m. 


i 


y^^^m 

Jl^iaa.  'li' 

mtw^H 

Li^ 

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.                                      "Z 

D 


•       •      • 


The  Bolivian  Andes  233 

was  visible,  but  only  the  head.  The  brown  Puna 
undulated  around  and  seemed  to  be  going  on  for  ever. 
All  of  a  sudden  one  passed  behind  a  hump,  and  the 
ground  fell  beneath  one's  feet.  There  below  was  a 
vast  basin,  miles  in  length  and  breadth,  with  precipitous 
walls  cut  into  earth-pyramids,  and  at  the  bottom  of 
its  central  portion  the  city  of  La  Paz,  with  its  roofs 
like  a  great  pavement.  Away  off  at  the  end  of  the 
valley  thus  opened  the  stately  Illimani  reared  his 
twenty-one  thousand  and  odd  feet  into  the  sky  from 
a  base  not  more  than  five  thousand  feet  above  sea- 
level.  We  fell  victims  to  his  attractions  at  first  sight, 
and  decided  to  make  that  our  next  expedition. 

One  rare  charm  the  Bolivian  mountains  possess. 
They  are  not  mere  nameless  lumps  of  rock,  but  gods 
which  have  been  named  and  worshipped  by  unnumbered 
generations  of  men.  Chief  among  them  are  Illimani 
and  Illampu.  The  existing  Indian  population,  which 
calls  itself  Christian,  hides  under  the  surface  the  old 
worship.  They  regarded  us  as  impious  men  invading 
the  sanctuary  of  heaven,  and  many  an  evil  turn  they 
tried  to  do  us.  Illimani,  though  miles  away,  reigns 
over  La  Paz.  He  fills  the  end  of  many  parallel  streets. 
One  of  them  is  named  after  him.  He  is  more  to  the 
people  of  La  Paz  than  is  Mont  Blanc  to  the  Genevans. 
We  set  off  for  him  with  a  moderate  caravan  of  mules. 
The  peak  appeared  in  all  its  brilliancy  as  soon  as  the 
city  had  been  left  behind. 

The  exit  from  the  great  cauldron  of  La  Paz  is  by 
the  valley  of  the  La  Paz  river,  which  has  been  delved 
precipitously  out  of  deep  alluvial  deposit,  filling  what 


234  Mountain  Memories 

once  was  the  basin  of  the  huge  lake  whereof  Titicaca 
is  the  shrunken  sui-vival.  The  walls  of  the  valley  are 
often  cut  into  throngs  of  precipitous  earth-pyramids. 
Nowhere  have  I  seen  such  numbers  of  earth-pyramids 
or  such  big  ones.  The  valley  is  barren  except  where 
it  is  irrigated  naturally  or  artificially.  Where  water 
meets  earth  the  fertilit^^  is  great,  and  there  are  sweet 
flower  gardens  and  orchards  as  well  as  fields.  Lower 
down  the  valley  is  cut  through  ancient  rocks  and 
becomes  more  rugged.  The  mule-path  was  populous 
with  Indians,  picturesquely  clothed  in  bright  colours, 
bringing  products  to  the  La  Paz  markets.  Now  and 
again  we  met  a  country  gentleman  riding  to  town. 
As  the  valley  dropped  we  came  into  hotter  regions — 
some  that  were  very  hot. 

Our  descent  ended  at  the  beautiful  farm  of  Lurata, 
on  the  very  hem  of  Illimani's  skirt,  where  we  turned 
up  a  zigzag  track,  and  the  ascent  of  the  mountain 
began.  It  climbed  through  vineyards  and  followed 
along  the  edge  of  an  ancient  canal  that  waters  them. 
Strong  and  good  are  the  red  wines  of  Lurata.  Great 
bushes  of  cane  grew  beside  the  water-course.  Then 
came  larger  trees  and  gaunt  cactuses,  finally  orchards 
about  houses,  and  a  church.  A  eucalyptus  avenue  led 
to  the  rather  stately  manor-house,  named  Cotana, 
where  we  were  hospitably  entertained.  When  the 
clouds  cleared  off  next  day,  Illimani's  cliffs  and  snow- 
crest  appeared  upstanding  in  the  blue  above  a  whole 
hill-side  of  blossoming  peach  trees.  Thus  in  greater 
grace  but  less  majesty  Fujiyama  looks  forth  above  the 
peach  trees  of  Japan.     A  pleasant  ride  beneath  over- 


The  Bolivian  Andes  235 

^■^^"f  I  I  III!  Illl.ia—  I      ■  I  I  I         IIIIB  «        I      ■■■       ■■      .  ■  I  III    II    I     I    11    ■!    ■■■    II         I         I  II 

arching  shrubs  in  dehcious  dells  or  circling  round 
broad  corries  led  us  up  to  the  region  of  the  green  alp. 
We  slept  in  the  high  farm  of  Caimbaya  (11,800  feet), 
whence  on  September  5  our  final  start  was  made,  with 
four  Indians  as  porters.  Working  upward  round  the 
south-east  end  of  our  mountain,  we  opened  a  narrow 
rocky  valley  by  which  it  seemed  we  might  begin  our 
attack.  The  form  of  our  mountain  is  too  complicated 
for  description.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  its  highest  level 
is  an  oblong  snowfield,  over  a  mile  long,  resting  on 
a  shelf  cut  off  by  a  precipice.  At  our  end  of  it  were 
the  Pico  del  Indio  and  another  peak ;  at  the  farther 
end  was  the  highest  summit.  We  had  to  climb  on 
to  this  shelf,  traverse  its  whole  length,  and  then 
mount  the  final  peak.  The  thing,  in  fact,  was  like  a 
gigantic  arm-chair  or  settle.  The  back  was  the  water- 
shed with  some  nameless  summits.  The  highest  peak 
and  the  Pico  del  Indio  rose  at  the  projecting  ends  of 
the  two  arms.  We  had  to  climb  over  a  col  in  the 
left  arm,  traverse  the  length  of  the  seat,  reach  the  col 
in  the  other  arm,  and  turn  thence  up  the  ridge  to 
the  top.     The  difficulty  was  to  reach  the  first  col. 

The  ascent  of  the  stony  valley  took  two  days.  On 
the  third  we  climbed  a  rock  wall  on  our  right  with  a 
glacier  ending  at  the  top  of  it.  The  porters  left  us 
about  two-thirds  of  the  way  up,  throwing  down  their 
loads.  We  had  to  make  many  journeys  to  complete 
the  ascent  and  pitch  camp  on  the  glacier.  A  sea  of 
cloud  filled  the  hollow  of  our  ascent  and  roofed  over 
all  the  La  Paz  valley.  The  peaks  on  its  far  side, 
fifteen  miles  away,  and  the  Puna  plateau  were  clear, 


236  Motmiain  Memories 

the  latter  ruddy,  sunny,  and  arid,  stretching  away  to 
an  immense  distance,  with  the  faint  cones  of  the 
volcanoes  of  the  Western  Cordillera  rising  beyond. 
The  cloud-filled  valley  swept  round  to  the  east  and, 
cutting  through  our  range,  disappeared  round  the 
corner,  heading  for  the  Amazon.  On  this  lofty  perch 
I  sat  in  perfect  content  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  with 
Illimani  at  my  back  and  the  wide  world  at  my  feet. 

The  ascent  to  the  desired  col  was  to  be  made  by  a 
great  zigzag,  first  up  the  glacier  to  the  watershed, 
then  back  across  the  snow-slope  falling  from  the  arm 
of  the  settee  to  the  col  near  the  top  of  the  Pico  del 
Tndio.  We  set  forth  at  2  a.m.  by  lantern  light  over 
hard-frozen  snow.  The  sky  was  clear  and  starlit,  but 
weird  flashes  like  summer  lightning  broke  around  us 
apparently  on  the  surface  of  the  snow.  I  have  never 
elsewhere  seen  the  like  and  cannot  explain  them. 
Then  the  old  moon  rose.  Our  way  was  devious,  among 
great  crevasses.  Two  and  a  half  hours  from  camp, 
still  in  full  night,  we  reached  the  watershed,  and 
looked  down  an  appalling  cliff  of  at  least  15,000  feet 
into  the  vaguely  perceived  depths  of  a  wooded  valley. 
That  was  a  wonderful  sight  in  the  moonshine.  A 
curious  hump  of  hard  ice  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge 
had  to  be  surmounted,  a  difficult  scramble  involving 
giddy  work  overhanging  the  precipice  whose  grim 
depths  were  seen  between  our  insecurely  planted  feet. 
Here  began  the  return  traverse,  across  a  steep  snow- 
slope — two  hours  of  step-cutting  in  the  now  most 
bitter  cold.  The  sun  had  risen  when  the  desired 
saddle  beside   the   Pico   del   Indio  was  gained,    at  a 


The  Bolivian  Andes  237 

height  of  about  20,000  feet.  The  long  snow-shelf  was 
disclosed  about  400  feet  down,  and  our  peak  at  the 
farthest  corner  of  it.  The  only  remaining  difficulty 
was  the  distance. 

The  snow  was  still  hard,  and  we  made  the  best  of 
it  while  it  lasted;  but  this  high  mile  and  a  half  used 
up  three  whole  hours  of  slow  continuous  plodding,  the 
last  half  of  it  uphill.  The  second  saddle  was  at  about 
21,000  feet.  All  felt  the  great  fatigue  which  soon 
accompanies  work  at  very  high  levels,  but  no  sickness 
or  other  functional  derangement.  The  final  ascent  was 
along  an  easy  snow  arete  which  looked  down  the 
immense  face  of  the  mountain  toward  La  Paz.  I 
walked  slowly  up  it  in  a  curious  dream-like  condition, 
and  believe  myself  to  have  actually  slept  between  the 
steps.  The  view  was  mainly  over  clouds,  save  for  the 
foreground  of  lower  summits  and  nive  and,  farther 
away,  the  southern  continuation  of  the  Cordillera  and 
some  patches  of  the  Puna.  Our  mountain  far  outsoared 
all  its  neighbours.  There  was  a  high  exhilaration  in 
the  sense  of  upliftedness,  for  the  clifl^s  that  fell  from  us 
were  free  of  fog  and  the  depths  could  be  plumbed  by 
the  eye. 

The  return  went  well  enough  till  the  re-ascent  to 
the  Pico  del  Indio ;  that  was  heart-breaking.  Slowly 
and  wearily  we  chmbed  to  its  summit  and  sat  down  on 
the  rocks,  in  a  chink  of  which  my  hand  rested  on  some- 
thing soft.  It  was  a  rotten  and  swollen  piece  of  Indian 
woollen  cord,  and  confirmed  the  tradition  that  an 
Indian,  once  impiously  attempting  to  penetrate  the 
abode  of  the  gods,  climbed  to  this  point  and  was  last 


238  Mountain  Memories 

seen  upon  it.  He  never  came  back,  for  the  gods  turned 
him  into  stone.  Avoiding  our  great  zigzag,  we  struck 
straight  down  a  very  steep  slope  of  snow  which  I  think 
could  seldom  be  descended.  It  happened  to  be  in 
faultless  condition  of  tough  consistency,  but  even  so 
had  to  be  treated  with  great  respect.  We  chanced  on 
the  spot  where  the  hergschru7id  could  be  leapt,  then 
picked  a  way  among  the  largest  crevasses  I  ever  saw, 
whose  bridges  were  hill-sides.  The  intricate  labyrinth 
almost  benighted  us.  Clouds  gathered  overhead ; 
thunder  pealed  to  left  and  right  and  echoed  among 
the  ice-cliffs ;  but  we  passed  through  and  joined  our 
morning  tracks  before  utter  darkness  settled  down. 
It  was  black  night  when  our  tents  were  reached. 

In  descending  from  Caimbaya  to  the  La  Paz  valley 
we  circled  round  under  the  great  cliff  of  Illimani,  and 
so  out  from  it  along  a  curving  ridge.  This  carried  us 
to  a  sort  of  headland  a  few  miles  away  which  looked 
back  across  the  cirque  we  had  traversed,  and  up  to  the 
peak.  A  little  below  us,  in  the  foreground  of  the  view, 
was  a  village,  and  near  it  a  circular  dancing  floor  on  a 
bare  field.  Illimani  looked  down  upon  it  with  over- 
whelming majesty.  Small  wonder  that  simple  people 
regarded  that  sky-piercing  mass  as  the  throne  of  a 
god.  And  now  those  sacred  heights  had  been  profaned, 
and  by  "gringoes."  Vengeance  might  be  expected, 
and  it  would  be  the  villagers  who  would  suffer.  So  they 
were  dancing  in  a  ring  on  the  dancing-floor,  round  and 
round  in  continuous  circle,  to  the  music  of  pipe  and 
driun.  The  little  air  was  repeated  over  and  over  again. 
We  heard  it  for  an  hour  or  more  as  we  approached  and 


The  Bolivian  Andes  239 

receded.  It  ,was  a  plaintive  melody  and  a  slow ;  slow 
too  was  the  movement  of  the  dancers.  I  hope  the 
gods  were  propitiated  and  preserved  their  worshippers 
from  the  evil  foreboded. 

Success  on  Ilhmani  encouraged  an  immediate  assault 
on  Illampu,  or  rather  upon  the  higher  neighbouring 
summit  Ancohuma,  which,  with  Illampu,  forms  the 
mountain  named  Sorata,  after  the  small  town  at  its 
foot.  It  was  eighty  miles  to  the  northward,  and  we 
must  ride  to  La  Paz  and  then  along  the  Puna  to  Lake 
Titicaca  and  the  town  Achacache,  where  wt  could 
turn  up  toward  the  Cordillera  again.  This  w^as  the 
second  of  the  nine  times  I  was  destined  during  that 
season  to  traverse  the  weary  plateau,  driving  a  slow 
mule  caravan  before  us.  In  early  morning  and  late 
evening  it  was  bitterly  cold,  by  day  blazing  hot.  The 
Cordillera,  the  uninteresting  Cordillera  as  I  grew  to 
call  it,  looked  down  on  us  over  its  foothills  on  the  east. 
True  it  possessed  one  or  two  fine  peaks  beside  the  two 
giants  at  the  ends.  Cacaaca  is  the  best  of  them,  an 
aspiring  pyramid.  I  seemed  always  to  be  passing  it 
.without  chance  of  nearer  approach.  At  dawn  the  range 
was  generally  clear,  by  noon  mountainous  clouds  had 
risen  over  the  hot  eastern  valleys,  dwarfing  the  hills ; 
these  clouds  presently  bent  forward  like  a  great  wave 
and  reached  over  to  and  beyond  us.  Toward  the  end  of 
the  dry  season  they  broke  in  thunderstorms  and  sent 
us  wet  to  bed.  It  was  none  too  safe  for  travellers, 
this  populous  Puna.  Bands  of  ill-conditioned  Indians 
sometimes  wandered  about  it  in  the  dusk.  Such  a 
group  once  approached  me  when  I  was  riding  alone, 


240  Mountain  Memories 

ahead  of  my  men.  I  showed  my  weapon,  and  they 
passed  by,  but  they  murdered  a  lonely  wayfarer  behind 
me.  I  saw  his  horrible  body  carried  in  across  a  mule 
next  morning.  Some  of  the  village  tainhos  had  a  bad 
reputation  for  the  disappearance  of  casual  travellers. 
A  tcvnho  in  which  we  spent  a  night  was  attacked  by 
villagers  who  expected  to  find  us  off  our  guard  and 
were  evidently  in  league  with  the  innkeeper.  For- 
tunately we  had  observed,  by  his  queer  behaviour,  that 
something  was  amiss,  and  were  prepared,  so  no  harm 
resulted. 

The  whole  surface  of  the  Puna  seems  flat  till  you 
travel  over  it,  when  it  is  found  to  undulate  wearisomely. 
Hills  stick  up  out  of  the  brown  alluvium,  like  islands 
out  of  water,  and  seem  placed  on  purpose  to  be  ex- 
cellent surveying  stations  for  the  Cordillera.  But  all 
these  hill-tops  are  sacred  places  from  of  old,  surmounted 
by  tombs  or  memorial  chapels.  The  first  time  I  set 
up  my  theodolite  on  one  of  them  a  whole  village  of 
angry  men  chased  us  away  with  stones  and  abuse. 
My  survey  operations  were  suspect  from  the  first. 
Presently  our  steps  were  dogged.  No  sooner  did  we 
show  ourselves  in  some  valley  than  warning  messengers 
hurried  off  in  all  directions,  and  we  were  forced  to 
depart  out  of  the  way  of  the  infuriated  populace.  The 
survey  work  had  to  be  done  by  stealth  from  points 
climbed  in  the  night,  so  that  a  round  of  angles  could 
be  captured  before  our  position  had  been  noticed.  One 
important  point  for  my  purposes  could  only  be  occupied 
under  guard  of  a  squad  of  soldiers  fetched  specially 
from    La  Paz,   and  even  then  we  did  not  get  away 


The  Bolivian  Andes  241 

without  plenty  of  stone-throwing.  Little  as  we 
intended  it,  everything  we  did  was  obnoxious  to  the 
natives.  If  we  mounted  into  the  snows  we  were 
impiously  invading  the  home  of  the  gods.  If  we 
climbed  a  low  Puna  hill  we  were  polluting  some  sacred 
shrine  or  the  burial  place  of  some  venerated  Inca.  If 
we  wandered  from  the  main  road  and  passed  through 
a  village  the  populace,  at  its  mildest,  turned  out  to 
hoot  the  "gringoes."  The  Indians  do  not  love  the 
half-breeds.  They  dislike  the  people  of  Spanish 
descent.  They  cordially  hate  all  European  visitors. 
They  are  an  unlovely  folk,  the  most  detestable  I  have 
encountered  in  any  part  of  the  world. 

From  Achacache,  a  large,  mainly  Indian,  town  on 
a  bay  of  Lake  Titicaca,  we  turned  toward  our  second 
great  mountain,  riding  first  to  the  manor-house  of 
Umapusa  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  bailiflP. 
We  depended  on  him  to  find  us  porters  and  to  explain 
our  harmlessness  to  his  Indians.  At  a  higher  village, 
Fraskiya,  we  finally  enlisted  six  carriers,  and  with 
them  on  foot,  rode  over  a  sort  of  moorland  in  the 
direction  of  our  mountain.  On  topping  a  rise  about 
three  hours  higher  (17,000  feet)  we  looked  down  into 
a  valley  ,with  the  snout  of  a  glacier  at  its  head.  Our 
camp  was  pitched  near  it  on  a  pleasant  grassy  meadow 
■ — an  old  lake-basin  with  good  grazing  for  the  mules. 
There  were  plenty  of  bushes  for  fuel,  with  green-headed 
humming-birds  poised  about  them.  At  last  I  thought 
the  hostile  Indians  were  left  far  behind,  and  we  could 
and  did  sleep  in  peace  after  enjoying  the  blaze  of  a 
gorgeous  bonfire. 


242  Mo2intain  Memories 

Two  of  our  six  Indians  having  bolted  in  the  night, 
we  carefully  shepherded  the  other  four,  ourselves  also 
well  loaded,  to  as  high  a  point  as  possible.  They  would 
not  go  on  snow  or  ice,  but  the  left  bank  of  the  glacier 
was,  fortunately,  available,  and  by  it  we  reached  a  col 
in  a  side  ridge  where  our  second  camp  was  pitched. 
That  night  our  base-camp  was  raided  by  angry  Indians 
from  some  other  village  over  whom  the  bailiff  had  no 
influence.  It  would  have  gone  hardly  with  us  had  we 
been  caught.  The  second  camp  was  close  to  a  great 
ice-fall.  Its  seracs  seemed  very  insecure ;  yet  I  never 
saw  one  of  them  or  any  s6mc  on  these  glaciers  falling, 
nor  did  I  see  the  debris  of  any.  Tropical  glaciers  have 
a  way  of  their  own.  They  melt,  not  into  water,  but 
into  vapour.  None  of  the  considerable  glaciers  we  saw 
disgorged  a  torrent.  The  largest  glacier  stream  we 
crossed  was  barely  a  foot  wide.  These  tottering  seracs 
were  melting  into  the  air  like  a  lump  of  sugar  in  a 
cup  of  tea.  Hence  the  remarkable  silence  :  not  the 
faintest  trickle  of  nmning  water.  The  texture  of  the 
ice  is  likewise  peculiar.  The  semes  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  lumps  of  granite.  We  camped  close  to  them 
in  perfect  safety  at  about  18,000  feet. 

Knowing  that  porters  would  not  be  available  on 
the  snow,  we  had  broug^ht  a  rough  La  Paz-made 
sledge  with  us.  This  we  dragged  in  the  bad  weather 
of  the  following  day  to  a  level  place  on  the  snowfield, 
httle  short  of  20,000  feet,  where,  under  shelter  of  a 
blue  wall  of  ice,  we  set  up  our  tent.  The  march  had 
been  very  toilsome  by  reason  of  the  great  crevasses, 
into  each  of  which  ,we  had  to  let  down  the  sledge  on 


The  Bolivian  Abides  243 

to  a  bridge  and  then  to  hoist  it  out  on  the  far  side. 
The  bridges  were  always  about  ten  feet  down  and  the 
walls  at  each  end  vertical.  A  furious  storm  raged  all 
night,  but  the  following  afternoon  was  clear  enough 
for  a  reconnaissance.  It  was  but  a  temporaiy  inter- 
lude. The  storm  came  on  again  with  redoubled  fury 
of  wind  and  heavy  snow.  Leaving  our  camp  to  look 
after  itself,  we  hurried  away  down  to  the  base.  That 
storm  for  us  was  doubly  unlucky.  It  even  snowed  all 
over  the  Puna,  a  most  exceptional  occurrence  at  this 
time  of  year  (September  25).  But  the  natives  under- 
stood all  about  it.  If  their  farming  operations  were 
hindered,  it  was  because  we  had  angered  the  mountain 
gods,  and  the  storm  was  the  consequence. 

Day  after  day  it  continued.  I  availed  myself  of 
the  interlude  to  cross  the  Cordillera  by  a  low  pass  and 
visit  one  of  the  rich  and  warm  eastern  valleys,  the 
head- waters  of  the  Amazon.  Pleasant  it  was  to  come 
into  a  region  of  rich  fertility  after  the  bare  and  dreary 
uplands.  It  was  a  fortnight  before  fine  weather 
returned  and  we  mounted  again  to  our  high  camp ; 
but  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  had  become  a  forlorn 
hope.  Tent  and  kit  proved  to  be  uninjured  when  we 
had  dug  them  out  of  the  snow,  but  the  prospect  was 
of  the  poorest.  New  snow  burdened  every  slope. 
The  final  peak  would  probably  prove  inaccessible. 
We  set  forth  at  the  darkest  hour  of  the  moonless 
night  to  essay  it.  We  were  still  navigating  by  lantern 
light  when  we  reached  the  gaping  hergschrund.  The 
cold  was  horrible.  The  darkness,  the  uncertain  flicker 
of  our  fire-fly    candle,   the  utter   silence,   the    angry 


244  Mo^mtain  Memories 

clouds  blotching  the  starry  heaven,  the  vaguely  felt 
rather  than  seen  expanses  of  snow  in  the  bonds  of  a 
frost  Hke  the  grip  of  a  demon's  hand,  combined  to 
produce  on  all  of  us  an  immense  effect.  For  a  brief 
moment  the  thin  crescent  of  the  waning  moon,  newly 
risen,  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  sky  before  clouds 
obliterated  it.  About  4  a.m.,  still  in  black  night,  we 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  final  slope.  The  snow  was 
like  flour  and  would  not  bind.  Why  it  did  not  slide 
off  in  one  great  avalanche  seemed  inexplicable.  It 
could  only  be  attacked  straight  up.  We  wallowed 
in  it  to  the  waist  and  suffered  agonies  of  cold.  Each 
step  had  to  be  beaten  down,  and  then  it  gave  way 
under  the  second  man  that  trod  on  it. 

Dawn  broke,  pale  and  thin,  and  showed  the 
wretchedness  of  our  surroundings.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  pound  on;  higher  up  the  condition  of 
the  snow  might  improve.  The  summit  was  not  so 
far  away.  But  the  higher  we  rose  the  softer  became 
the  snow.  At  last  it  would  not  bear  us.  We  flogged 
it  down,  and  then  sank  into  it  as  much  as  ever.  We 
flogged  again,  and  again  sank.  Do  what  we  might 
we  could  advance  no  farther.  The  top  was  perhaps 
three  hundred  feet  away,  but  we  could  not  reach  it. 
Freezing,  disgusted,  hungry,  we  perforce  had  to  turn 
back.  The  hateful  slope  was  quickly  descended,  and 
then  an  attempt  was  made  farther  to  the  south.  It 
was  all  no  good.  We  plodded  back  to  camp,  hauled 
our  sledge  to  the  top  of  the  moraine,  and  so  in  due 
course  returned  to  Achacache  and  the  brown  and 
dreary  Puna. 


The  Bolivian  Andes  245 

The  remainder  of  my  time  in  Bolivia  was  spent 
upon  the  survey  of  the  Cordillera.  There  was  no  more 
climbing  weather.  All  I  could  do  was  to  snatch  at  the 
lower  hill-tops  and  make  expeditions  up  the  valleys.  I 
grew  to  hate  the  snow-mountains.  They  played  at 
hide  and  seek  with  me  and  always  hid  the  faces  I  wanted 
to  sketch.  One  day  as  I  was  sitting  at  lunch  I  picked 
up  a  casual  stone.  It  occurred  to  me  that,  sufficiently 
magnified,  the  stone  would  be  a  mountain  and  I  might 
be  mapping  it.  Magnified  ten  thousand  times,  it  would 
still  be  the  same  shape — and  why  more  interesting? 
What  had  size  to  do  with  interest?  Those  Cordillera 
peaks  I  was  shaping  on  my  map — after  all  they  were 
only  big  stones ; ;  why  bother  about  drawing  them 
rather  than  the  bit  of  road-metal  in  my  hand  ?  Romance 
had  vanished  from  the  whole  business.  I  was  sick  and 
tired  of  mountains  and  Indians  and  the  survey. 
Enough  had  been  done.  I  hurried  back  to  La  Paz, 
where  a  revolution  was  brewing,  packed  up  my  traps, 
took  the  coach  to  Oruro  and  washed  my  hands  of  the 
whole  mountaineering  business. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SOUTH  AMERICAN  VOLCANOES 

NO  better  corrective  for  the  pessimism  of  my  mood 
in  leaving  Bolivia  could  have  been  devised  than  the 
exciting  journey  from  Oruro  to  the  Pacific  at  Anto- 
fagasta.  It  is  made  by  a  narrow-gauge  railway.  The 
distance  is  about  575  miles  and  was  covered  in  three 
days,  the  train  halting  for  the  night  and  not  proceeding 
at  all  on  Sundays.  From  Oruro  to  the  sea  the  whole 
route  passes  through  an  uncompromising  desert.  At 
first  it  is  a  mere  continuation  of  the  Puna  :  on  one  hand 
the  barren  mountains  of  the  Cordillera,  on  the  other 
a  succession  of  island  hills  rising  from  the  plain.  The 
water-line  left  by  the  ancient  inland  sea  is  clearly 
marked  upon  their  flanks.  The  mountains  are  rich  in 
minerals  and  dotted  over  with  mining  settlements, 
dreariest  of  all  groups  of  human  habitations.  The 
talk  in  the  train  was  all  of  mines.  We  passed  along 
the  shore  of  Lake  Poopo,  the  other  remnant  beside 
Titicaca  of  the  ancient  sheet  of  water,  but  we  never 
saw  it,  or  at  least  could  be  sure  that  we  saw  it,  because 
the  whole  desert  plain  seemed  to  be  covered  with  lakes, 
which,  or  most  of  them,  were  mirages.  The  views 
were  of  the  most  puzzling  character.  Everything 
looked  like  something  else.  Tussocks  of  wire-grass 
near  at  hand  pretended  to  be  distant  woods.     Stones 

or  lumps  of  yareta  mimicked  islands.     It  was  a  land 

246 


South  American   Volcanoes       247 

bewitched.  After  three  hours  the  mirages  vanished 
and  the  clean  desert  appeared — the  beautiful  shining 
desert  with  its  bright  sand,  gay  or  grave  according  to 
your  humour,  purple-pink  hills  beyond,  a  clear  sky 
above,  and  a  great  sense  of  space. 

The    train   presently    entered    a    more    contracted 
region  of  winding  canons,  w^here  rocks  and  earth  are 
brilliantly  coloured — red  mounds  of  queerest  shapes, 
red  hills  horizontally  stratified  with  harder  rocks,  all 
sculptured  by  water  into  terraces  and  gullies,  but  now 
dry  as  the  Moon.     Everything  was  queer,  every  corner 
revealed  a  surprise.     Thus  we  came  suddenly  on  a  wdde, 
dry  river-bed,   white  as  snow.     The  salt  deposit  lay 
flat  between  banks  of  steeply  tilted  slates — green,  red, 
blue,  purple  and  all  very  brilliant  under  the  blazing 
sunshine — ready-made    subjects    for    cubists.     When 
the  desert  had  widened  again  and  the  sun  was  lowering 
behind   the    brown    blow^n   dust    rising   from    remote 
blue  hills  below  a  lemon  sky  I  felt  as  though  we  had 
come  to  the  very  margin  of  the  world.     It  was  a  rude 
shock  to  run  into  the  large  railway  station  of  Uyuni 
(12,010  feet),  where  I  halted  for  a  day.     The  encom- 
passing desert  over  which  I  wandered  at  large  is  almost 
incredibly  flat  and  utterly  barren,   its  sandy   subsoil 
caked  over  with  a  ruddy  substance  hard  as  brick.     The 
skeletons  of  many  mules  lined  the  tracks  radiating  away. 
Gaunt  bones,  sticking  up  through  thin  layers  of  mirage, 
^vere  like  the  ribs  of  wrecked  ships.     At  sunset  the 
desert  became  black  beneath  a  canopy  of  high  mist, 
barred   with   blue.     Hills   were   purple   and   clear-cut 
against    a    green    sky.     The   journey,    resumed    next 


248  Mo2intain  Memories 

morning,  again  traversed  mirages  in  which  the  hills 
were  reflected  in  their  blueness  as  from  rippled  water. 
We  crossed  the  salt  white-banked  Rio  Grande  creep- 
ing to  its  death  in  a  saline  swamp.  The  plain  was  so 
flat  that  the  line  disappeared  below  the  horizon  by  the 
curvature  of  the  earth.  Not  a  bird  flew  over  it,  not  a 
man  stumbled  along  it,  never  a  house  came  in  view, 
seldom  even  the  track  of  a  vicuna. 

Crossing  the  Chilean  frontier  we  entered  a  region 
of  volcanoes.  One  above  the  station  where  we  lunched 
was  puffing  jets  of  white  steam  from  its  lofty  crater. 
Hills  and  ground  were  red,  yellow,  or  white,  and  dotted 
over  with  black  cinders.  For  upward  of  a  hundred 
miles  we  passed  through  a  landscape  like  the  Moon's, 
composed  of  desert  and  volcanoes,  mostly  extinct. 
The  train  curved  in  and  out  among  dry  white  lakes  of 
salt,  streams  of  cold  lava,  and  volcanoes,  some  of  them 
perfect  in  symmetry  and  grace  of  outline.  Rocks, 
desert,  lava,  and  hills  were  brilliantly  coloured  with 
utmost  garishness — astonishing  to  look  upon  in  contrast 
with  the  white  lakes  among  them.  One  white  lake 
had  a  shore  of  dead  black  volcanic  sand ;  white  dust 
whirlpools  were  dancing  across  it.  A  hill  near  by  was 
streaked  blood  red,  chrome-yellow,  and  other  vivid 
colours.  Beyond  the  watershed  at  Ascotan  (13,010 
feet)  the  railway  cuts  through  a  flow  of  lava  lying  on 
the  sandy  desert  and  looking  as  though  it  had  but  just 
come  to  rest.  With  this  for  foreground,  volcanoes, 
large  and  small,  ranged  behind,  and  San  Pedro's  smok- 
ing peak  over  all,  I  thought  I  had  never  beheld  a  more 
weird  and  inhuman  scene.     Facing  this  group  was  a 


South  American   Volcanoes       249 

many-coloured  hill  covered,  they  told  me,  .with  mag- 
netic sand,  which  leaps  into  the  air  and  flies  about  in 
sheets  and  masses  when  thunderstorms  pass  over,  to 
the  horror  of  the  Indians.  Amid  the  roar  of  thunder 
and  the  lightning  flashes,  surrounded  by  an  earthquake- 
stricken  desert  all  strewn  with  cinders,  this  dancing 
fiend  of  a  hill  close  at  hand,  ignorant  people  may  well 
imagine  themselves  in  the  midst  of  contending  demons. 

The  second  night  was  spent  at  an  irrigated  oasis. 
On  the  third  day  we  sank  steadily  toward  the  ocean, 
leaving  the  volcanic  region  behind.  Hill-forms  be- 
came less  pronounced  and  heights  lower  till  they 
were  little  more  than  magnified  sand-dunes.  Wind 
carried  the  salt  dust  hither  and  thither.  We  rounded 
a  corner  and  there  was  the  ocean.  The  desert  bent 
to  the  shore  and  dipped  beneath  the  waves. 

At  Antofagasta  we  took  ship,  and  in  a  few  days 
landed  at  Valparaiso.  The  desert  region  was  soon 
forgotten  in  the  luxuriance  of  a  land  which  is  one  of  the 
most  fertile  on  this  planet.  It  is  the  Kashmir  of 
South  America.  A  cousin  of  Sarah  Bernhardt  kept 
the  excellent  hotel  at  which  I  put  up.  From  my  bed- 
room window  I  saw  inland  a  rocky  peak,  sharp  and 
clear.  It  seemed  but  a  few  miles  away,  but  as  I  gazed 
upon  it  it  appeared  to  grow  and  recede.  Presentlj 
the  fact  dawned  upon  me  that  this  was  Aconcagua, 
the  highest  peak  in  the  two  continents  of  America. 
Helped  by  kindly  English  residents,  arrangements 
were  soon  made  by  telegraph  and  telephone  for  a  rapid 
expedition  to  climb  it,  and  within  a  day  or  two  we 
were  en  route  once  more,  but  no  longer  as  explorers. 

Q 


250  MotmtatJi  Memories 

Aconcagua  does  not  stand  on  the  watershed  of  the 
Andes,  but  a  few  miles  to  the  eastward  in  Argentina. 
The  best  way  to  get  at  it  is  up  the  Horcones  Valley, 
which  runs  northward  from  the  Baths  of  Inca  and 
parallel  to  the  watershed.  Those  baths  are  in  the  direct 
line  of  what  is  now  the  Transandine  railway  from  Val- 
paraiso to  Buenos  Aires.  In  1898  the  Andes  tunnel 
and  its  approaches  had  not  been  made.  There  was  a 
line  from  Valparaiso  to  Salto  del  Soldado,  and  on  the 
Argentine  side  from  Mendoza  to  Buenos  Aires,  but 
between  the  two,  the  pass  named  Uspallata  Cumbre 
had  to  be  crossed.  In  summer  it  could  be  driven 
over,  but  in  early  December  (equivalent  to  our 
early  June)  it  was  only  with  difficulty  to  be  passed  by 
mules. 

We  quitted  the  train  at  Salto  on  December  1  after 
a  few  hours'  travel  through  a  fair  and  fertile  region. 
Coaches  with  four  horses  abreast  drove  us  some  way 
further  till  the  road  was  blocked  by  recent  falls  of  rock 
from  the  impending  hillside.  Mules  carried  such  of 
us  as  did  not  fall  off  (and  we  were  a  bare  majority  of 
the  town-bred  company)  to  a  group  of  eorrugated  iron 
sheds,  where  we  spent  the  night  crowded  promiscuously 
together  in  rooms  paved  with  beds — six  inches  only 
between  one  and  the  next.  Voices  could  be  plainly 
heard  through  the  thin  partitions,  so  that  when  all  were 
a-bed  conversation  was  loudly  maintained  between  the 
scattered  members  of  a  party.  Children  squalled  ;  their 
mothers  shouted  at  them  and  beat  them  to  be  quiet. 
Men  began  to  snore.  Mules  and  arrieros  in  the  corral 
added  to  the  din.     Someone  was  always  stumping  about 


South  American   Volcanoes        251 

in  the  saloon  or  visiting  the  kitchen.  It  was  a  lively 
night. 

By  3.30  A.M.  we  had  ridden  away,  a  caravan  of  forty 
mules  and  horses,  mostly  carrying  inexperienced  riders, 
for  .whom  this  journey  was  the  adventure  of  a  life- 
time. We  went  forth  in  merry  mood,  following  the 
well-laid  zigzags  of  a  good  road  till  that  vanished  under 
ten  feet  and  more  of  hard  winter  snow.  Here  trouble 
began  on  an  unstable  slope,  where  one  or  two  beasts 
fell,  but  a  level  stretch  followed.  Snow  zigzags  on  a 
steeper  slope  gave  access  to  a  higher-level  valley  white 
as  the  snow-field  of  a  glacier.  Here  the  snow  was  not 
only  soft,  but  presently  saturated  with  water  like  a 
Spitsbergen  snow-bog.  The  mules  floundered  terribly 
and  the  caravan  was  a  pitiful  sight  to  watch.  Most  of 
the  travellers  were  thrown  off,  some  again  and  again. 
Those  who  dismounted  walked  into  the  bog  and  became 
wringing  wet  in  the  ice-cold  water.  They  cried  aloud 
in  their  misery.  A  steeper  slope  was  dry  and  hard, 
and  my  mule  easily  mounted  it  to  the  pass  in  half  an 
hour,  but  the  caravan,  now  fallen  far  behind,  found  it 
softened  by  the  sun  and  took  two  hours  to  flounder  up. 

The  fine  view  from  the  summit  does  not  include 
Aconcagua,  which  is  exactly  hidden  by  a  nearer  peak, 
but  it  embraces  a  richly  coloured  group  of  mountains, 
mainly  built  of  volcanic  rocks.  Loud  were  the  lamenta- 
tions jvith  which  my  travelling  companions  saluted  the 
pass,  for  mountain-sickness  was  added  to  the  troubles 
of  many,  and  those  who  had  been  unprovided  with  dark 
glasses  were  suffering  from  painful  inflammation  of  the 
eyes.     How  the  caravan  came  down  I  know  not.     It 


252  Mountain  Memories 

was  the  easiest  of  descents  on  foot — a  long  slope  of 
loose,  almost  flowing,  debris  which  carried  one  down 
a  few  yards  for  every  step.  Between  running  and 
sliding  I  left  the  2,000  feet  above  me  in  fifteen  minutes. 
This  was  our  first  acquaintance  with  a  debris-slope  of 
volcanic  rock,  of  which  more  anon.  Quadrigas  were 
in  waiting  at  the  road-level ;  they  carried  us  swiftly  to 
the  Baths  of  Inca  Hotel. 

A  very  curious  place  is  this  Baiios  del  Inca.  In  the 
middle  of  a  wide  and  barren  desert-valley  the  river  flows 
in  a  narrow  precipitous  gorge  furrowed  in  its  flat  floor. 
An  imposing  natural  bridge  crosses  the  gorge,  and  the 
road  goes  over  it.  A  cliff  of  the  gorge,  near  the  bridge, 
smokes  with  steam  arising  from  hot  mineral  waters  that 
emerge  from  its  flank  near  the  top  and  dribble  over  the 
precipice,  staining  it  white,  yellow,  and  bright  orange. 
The  hot  springs  have  melted  out  caverns  in  the  cliff. 
These  caverns,  which  have  natural  cup-like  floors,  are 
the  baths,  the  only  artificial  feature  being  the  rough 
boarded  fronts  added  to  them  to  secure  privacy  for 
bathers.  It  is  said  that  the  baths  were  known  to  the 
Incas,  and  that  traces  exist  of  an  ancient  road  between 
them  and  remote  Lake  Titicaca. 

All  arrangements  for  our  expedition  up  the  Hor- 
cones  valley,  which  here  opened  to  our  gaze  and  showed 
us  our  mountain  at  its  head,  had  been  made  for  us  by 
the  English  proprietor  of  the  baths.  Dr.  Cotton,  so 
that  we  were  able  to  get  away  very  early  on  December  3 
with  the  necessary  caravan  of  mules  and  men.  The 
ascent  of  the  valley  to  the  foot  of  Aconcagua  was  the 
only    dangerous    part    of    the    expedition.     We    re- 


Sotitk  American   Volcanoes       253 

crossed  the  natural  bridge  and  followed  a  track  over 
the  great  mounds  at  the  opening  of  the  side-valley ; 
they  are  the  disintegrated  remains  of  immense  old 
moraines.  Some  way  beyond  them  came  the  first 
ford — a  dangerous  crossing.  One  mule  and  man  were 
carried  away  in  the  rush  of  the  water,  and  only  just 
escaped  destruction  by  struggling  ashore  a  yard  above 
a  small  waterfall.  All  were  ultimately  convoyed  over 
by  the  aid  of  a  long  and  strong  rope. 

An  easy  spell  was  followed  by  a  further  impedi- 
ment— a  steep,  smooth,  hard  slope  of  old  avalanche- 
snow  ending  in  a  direct  fall  into  the  boiling  torrent. 
We  should  naturally  have  chipped  steps  for  crossing 
it  on  foot,  but  the  mules  walked  calmly  over,  though 
the  shghtest  slip  must  have  landed  them,  without  hope 
of  recovery,  in  the  raging  waters  200  feet  below.  I 
dismounted  and  tried  to  w^alk  on  the  slope,  but  could 
not  ^without  making  steps.  The  mules  just  scratched 
the  snow  with  their  iron  shoes,  and  that  sufficed  to  hold 
them.  My  heart  was  in  my  throat  as  I  rode  over  after 
the  baggage-train;  confidence  oozed  out  of  the  heels 
of  my  boots  as  I  neared  the  middle.  The  slope  seemed 
to  be  steepening,  but  we  advanced  steadily.  When 
the  desired  rocks  were  but  two  yards  away  my  mule 
began  to  slip,  and  I  thought  we  were  done ;  but  the 
beast  heaved  herself  forward  with  a  great  effort,  broke 
through  the  edge  of  the  snow  with  her  fore-feet,  and 
scrambled  to  safety. 

There  were  many  more  difficulties  great  and  small 
not  worth  lingering  over.  Another  but  narrower  ford 
had  to  be  crossed.     Soon  afterward  we  came  to  the 


254  Motmiain  Memories 

level  upper  reach  of  the  valley,  which  ,was  fatiguing  to 
traverse  but  wonderful  to  behold  :  the  floor  golden  in 
tone,  the  hillsides  of  purple,  red,  and  bright  green 
rocks,  splintered  peaks  above  precipices  aloft  forming 
a  sky-hne  like  the  shattered  crest  of  a  ruined  castle. 
The  rocks  were  bleeding  with  stained  waters  from  the 
melting  snows,  and  all  the  torrents  flowed  red  as  from 
a  battlefield  of  giants.  At  the  head  of  the  valley  we 
found  an  excellent  site  for  our  base-camp  in  a  sheltered 
position  among  huge  fallen  rocks.  The  foot  of  the 
immense  north-west  slope  of  Aconcagua  was  only  a 
few  paces  from  the  tents. 

Next  day  I  sent  forth  guides  and  porters  well-laden 
to  establish  a  camp  about  2,000  feet  up  this  slope  afore- 
said. They  returned  groaning.  But  for  its  vast  scale 
there  is  nothing  meaner  in  mountain  architecture  than 
this  north-west  slope  of  Aconcagua.  Imagine  a  side 
of  the  Great  Pyramid  hugely  magnified.  Such  is  this 
face  of  Aconcagua  if  stripped  of  debris — a  series  of 
little  cliffs  and  shelves;  but  all  of  it  except  the  top 
three  or  four  hundred  feet  is  buried  in  debris.  Here 
and  there  a  short  horizontal  cliff  emerges,  but  take 
it  by  and  large  it  is  a  slope  of  debris  from  bottom  to 
top.  And  such  debris !  They  lie  tenderly  balanced  in 
unstable  equilibrium.  The  shghtest  touch  sets  them 
sliding  down.  Where  they  are  newly  broken  from  the 
parent  rock  they  have  sharp  cutting  edges,  but  in  their 
descent  they  become  subangular,  and  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  they  emerge  rounded  like  the  pebbles  of 
a  brook.  Up  this  stuff  you  have  to  wade.  It  is  the 
most  fatiguing   job    imaginable.     The   foot   sinks  in. 


South  American   Volcanoes       255 

sometimes  almost  to  the  knee.  Often  after  advancing 
ten  steps  you  are  lower  than  when  you  started.  Some 
places  are  a  little  more  stable  than  others,  but  nothing 
indicates  them.  You  have  to  try  to  right  and  left,  and 
get  along  as  best  you  can.  Half  the  trouble  is  due  to 
the  nature  of  the  volcanic  rock,  which  is  excessively 
brittle.  The  whole  mountain  is  falling  to  pieces,  and 
all  the  pieces  are  subdividing.  Nothing  is  stable.  To 
carry  loads  up  2,000  feet  on  this  face  is  a  good 
day's  >vork.  The  men  returned  to  camp  fairly  done. 
They  had  found  a  suitable  camp-site,  and  thither 
we  all  mounted  the  following  day,  carrying  more 
supplies. 

The  climb  began  up  a  comfortable  slope  of 
avalanche-snow,  but  in  half  an  hour  we  touched  the 
loose  debris.  A  step  or  two  sufficed.  We  turned 
aside  into  a  gully,  and  followed  that  on  snow  and  loose 
stuff  to  the  lowest  of  the  little  emergent  cliffs  or 
palisades.  A  scramble  of  an  hour  or  more  led  to  the 
flat  edge  of  the  step  above  it,  and  then  came  the  debris. 
Above  the  next  palisade  our  camp  was  pitched  (about 
16,000  feet).  The  scorching  sun  had  given  us  violent 
headaches.  The  tempers  of  all  were  sorely  tried.  I 
know  no  other  mountain  that  makes  one  so  furiously 
angry  about  anything  or  nothing.  The  labour  of 
digging  out  platforms  for  the  tents  was  even  worse 
than  the  toil  of  the  climb.  The  air  was  bitterly  cold, 
the  sun  scorching  hot.  The  tents  within  were  suffo- 
catingly stuffy.  The  cold  and  glare  outside  were 
intolerable.  I  was  blind  to  the  wonders  of  the  view 
till  the  hated  sun  sank  out  of  sight.     Then  headaches 


256  Mountain  Memories 

departed.     The  evening  glow  illumined  us  and  cheer- 
fulness returned. 

The  way  ahead  was  evident  enough — four  rows  of 
palisades  with  debris-slopes  between  and  then  our  next 
camp-site.  It  is  useless  to  dawdle  over  a  description 
of  the  next  day's  climb.  It  was  now  and  again  relieved 
by  short  rock  scrambles,  but  otherwise  it  was  one  heart- 
breaking pound,  three  steps  lost  by  sliding  back  for 
every  four  taken.  One  point  needs  mention.  We 
had  come  to  a  level  where  the  atmosphere  was  notice- 
ably thinner  and  the  supply  of  oxygen  markedly 
diminished.  None  of  us  suffered  at  any  time  from 
mountain-sickness;  that  is  a  novice's  disease;  but  all 
suffered  from  the  diminution  of  strength,  which  is  pro- 
gressively felt  the  higher  one  rises.  To  meet  that 
disability  it  is  needful  to  breathe  deeply  and  with  great 
regularity.  Even  at  low  levels  there  is  something 
specially  exasperating  about  backshding.  The  art  of 
good  climbing  consists  in  raising  the  body  by  a  continu- 
ous series  of  movements  without  jerks.  Each  muscle 
should  be  slowly  and  steadily  brought  into  play  and 
slowly  relaxed.  If  a  footstep  gives  way  a  sudden  call  is 
made  on  unexpectant  muscles,  and  the  rhythmic  action 
of  the  lungs  is  interrupted  by  catchings  of  the  breath. 
At  high  levels  catchings  of  the  breath  are  anathema. 
They  involve  a  halt  and  three  or  four  deep  breaths 
before  the  giddiness  they  have  caused  is  removed. 
Aconcagua's  screes  were  the  cause  of  frequent  pernicious 
breath-catchings,  and  this  was  their  worst  and  most 
painful  effect.  Early  in  the  afternoon  we  had  done  a 
day's  work,  and  pitched  our  second  and  final  camp  at 


South  American   Volcanoes        257 


about  18,500  feet.  Threatenings  of  storm  and  distant 
thunder  passed  away,  and  all  .was  clear  by  an  hour 
before  sunset.  We  overlooked  ranges  of  mountains 
stretching  far  to  north  and  south.  Beyond  them  in 
the  west  was  the  Pacific,  hke  a  plain  of  lead,  into  which 
the  sun  sank.  During  three  days  we  had  the  ocean 
thus  in  view,  and  it  was  always  Hke  lead.  It  never 
reflected  any  sunlight  even  at  the  moment  of  sunset. 
After  the  sun  had  gone  the  horizon  remained  for  a 
long  time  illumined  by  a  band  of  fire,  as  though  a  forest 
were  in  flames  along  the  margin  of  the  world. 

Next  morning  (December  7)  we  started  at  3.30  a.m. 
for  the  final  climb.  The  cold  was  bitter;  the  heavens 
blazed  with  stars — our  home  constellations  head-over- 
heels  in  the  north.  Following  a  lantern  we  stumbled 
up  the  debris  and  the  toil  began.  An  hour's  work 
brought  some  dawn-light,  and  showed  how  small  a  dis- 
tance .we  had  covered.  The  final  cliff  of  rock  ahead 
seemed  also  near.  I  gave  myself  three  hours  to  reach 
it,  but  in  three  hours  it  still  kept  its  distance.  It  is 
impossible  to  exaggerate  the  labour  of  that  going.  It 
was  too  much  for  Pellissier,  and  he  had  to  turn  back. 
The  stuff  under  foot  became  looser  the  higher  we 
climbed.  If  we  yielded  to  the  desire  to  halt  the  cold 
drove  us  to  move  on.  Clothes,  though  of  thickest  fur, 
and  wolf-skin  gloves  seemed  no  better  protection  than 
so  much  muslin.  Above  21,000  feet  with  a  tempera- 
ture probably  below  zero  Fahrenheit  we  felt  colder 
than  I  ever  remember.  The  fault,  of  course,  lay  in 
our  impaired  circulation,  not  merely  in  the  external 
temperature. 


258  Motmtain  Memories 

The  moment  the  sun  rose  behind  our  mountain  it 
flung  its  purple  shadow  hke  a  sohd  beam  to  the  far 
horizon  of  the  Pacific,  upward  of  200  miles  away.  A 
fiery  radiance  filled  all  the  air  outside  the  shadow  and 
gave  to  the  latter  an  aspect  of  solidity.  Its  outer  sur- 
face was  rainbow-tinted.  It  was  a  marvellous  effect, 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  I  ever  beheld.  As  the 
sun  ascended  the  remote  point  of  the  shadow  ^vithdrew 
towards  us  on  the  water  till  it  reached  the  Chilean 
shore,  then  swiftly  came  inland  over  the  foot-hills, 
dipped  into  the  Horcones  Valley,  climbed  the  slope  up 
which  we  had  come,  and  finally  reached  our  feet. 
Turning  round  and  raising  our  eyes  to  the  crags  aloft, 
lo  !  the  blinding  fires  of  the  Sun  God  burning  upon  the 
crest  and  bringing  the  fulness  of  day ! 

Maquignaz  and  I  were  plodding  along  alone,  far 
apart.  About  8  o'clock  I  touched  the  base  of  the 
summit  cliffs  and  worked  upward  round  into  a  gully. 
It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  find  the  rocks  unclimb- 
able  and  the  debris  at  their  foot  loose,  indeed  looser 
than  ever.  When  they  lean  against  the  rock-wall  their 
readiness  to  slip  is  superlative.  In  an  hour  we  had 
crossed  this  gully  and  passed  round  into  a  narrower 
one  to  the  left.  We  intended  to  cross  the  foot  of  that 
into  a  third  gully  yet  farther  on,  but  the  debris  simply 
would  not  carry  us  and  we  had  to  climb  straight  up, 
hugging  the  rocks  on  our  right.  At  last  they  became 
bigger  and  firmer,  and  we  could  halt  for  some  food.  A 
final  scramble  planted  us  on  the  crest  of  the  mountain, 
and  Argentina  was  at  our  feet  with  the  cliffs  dropping 
a  vertical  two  miles  to  the  glacier  below.     To  right  and 


,J^U.»- 


South  Ameincan   Volcanoes       259 

left  for  over  a  mile  there  stretched,  like  the  fine  edge 
of  an  incurved  blade,  the  sharp  snow  arete  which  reaches 
from  the  slightly  lower  southern  summit  almost  to  the 
northern.  At  many  points  it  overhung  in  big  cor- 
nices, like  frozen  waves  about  to  break.  Clouds  were 
already  covering  up  the  view  but  did  not  obliterate  it 
before  I  had  photographed  the  pampa,  which  to  the 
eastward  looked  as  flat  and  limitless  as  the  Pacific  to 
the  west. 

We  put  on  the  rope  for  the  first  time  and  turned 
along  the  ridge,  step-cutting.  It  was  neither  steep 
nor  difficult.  It  ended  in  some  rocks  beyond  which 
the  summit  rose.  We  mounted  toward  it,  but  stopped 
a  few  feet  down,  for  sentimental  reasons,  the  view 
being  now  a  panorama  of  cloud.  I  have  often  been 
asked  why  we  did  not  stand  on  the  highest  point.  The 
answer  is  simple.  My  old  climbing  companion,  Edward 
Fitzgerald,  had  in  the  previous  year  completed  an 
elaborately-organised  exploration  of  this  district ;  his 
party,  led  by  Zurbriggen,  had  made  the  first  ascent  of 
Aconcagua.  They  had  spent  several  months  in  and 
about  the  Horcones  valley  and  were  popularly  supposed 
to  have  been  trying  all  the  time  to  climb  the  peak, 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  did  much  else.  Fitz- 
gerald's book  had  not  been  published  at  the  time  of 
my  ascent.  I  thought,  and  I  believe  correctly,  that  it 
would  be  harmful  for  the  prestige  of  that  book,  just  at 
the  point  of  issue,  if  I  were  known  to  have  accomplished 
in  a  week  what  was  supposed  to  have  taken  Fitzgerald's 
party  several  months.  I  therefore  refrained  from 
actually  standing  on  the  top.     I  have  regretted  my 


26o  Moitntain  Memories 


action    since.     It    did   not   accomplish   all   the   result 
intended. 

The  descent,  of  course,  was,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, a  bagatelle,  though  not  exciting.  If  the  stones 
had  seemed  loose  on  the  way  up,  they  seemed  looser 
now.  We  were  surrounded  at  every  step  by  an  area 
of  flowing  stones  some  forty  yards  in  diameter  and 
a  few  feet  in  depth.  Fairly  afraid  that  we  might  set 
the  whole  mountain-side  pouring  off  in  a  great  ava- 
lanche, Maquignaz  and  I  separated  widely  from  one 
another.  We  often  fell.  At  times  we  were  held 
fast  through  the  stones  flowing  round  our  legs  almost 
to  the  knee  and  weighting  us  down.  In  two  hours  and 
three-quarters  from  the  top  we  rejoined  Pellissier  at 
the  18,500-feet  camp.  He  proved  to  have  been  badly 
frostbitten  in  both  feet.  Within  an  hour  we  had 
packed  up  everything  and  were  off  again.  The  lower 
camp  was  gained  in  forty  minutes ;  there  we  found  a 
porter  asleep.  Headaches  had  been  left  behind  on 
the  summit.  Air  was  getting  pleasantly  thick.  We 
hurried  on  to  the  top  of  the  gully,  sent  our  loads  rolling 
down  it,  and  followed  them  to  the  bottom.  In  another 
hour  and  three-quarters  all  were  back  with  bag  and 
baggage  at  the  base-camp.  In  about  four  hours  of 
actual  going  we  had  descended  the  whole  10,000  feet 
of  our  climb. 

The  moment  was  a  lucky  one.  A  gale  was  already 
raging  on  the  upper  rocks.  The  spell  of  fine  weather 
was  ended.  For  the  next  twelve  days  the  storm  con- 
tinued over  all  Chile.  Quantities  of  snow  fell.  Climb- 
ing would  scarcely  have  been  possible  for  a  month. 


South  American   Volcanoes       261 

Little  cared  we.  Mules  came  up  to  us  next  day,  and 
we  rode  back  to  the  flesh-pots  of  the  Baths  of  Inca, 
though  the  upper  ford  was  very  dangerous,  and  two  of 
the  mules,  swept  away,  were  only  saved  by  the  lasso. 
The  return  ride  to  Salto  was  an  exciting  performance, 
for  we  were  not  now  with  a  public  caravan  but  alone 
and  led  by  a  bold  and  skilful  arriero  who  knew  what  the 
mules  could  be  trusted  to  do.  I  followed  him  blindly. 
He  took  me  at  a  trot  straight  down  the  steepest  and 
roughest  slopes.  We  descended  in  thirty-five  minutes 
what  had  taken  us  over  three  hours  to  ride  up.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  myself  alive  and  whole  at  the  end. 

Of  our  further  experiences  in  Chile  this  is  not  the 
place  to  speak.  We  were  again  at  Valparaiso,  then 
at  the  capital,  Santiago.  From  Concepcion  we  finally 
sailed  in  a  small  steamer  that  would  take  us,  after  stop- 
ping at  Coronel,  Lota,  and  Valdivia,  along  Smyth 
Channel  to  the  Straits  of  Magellan. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

FUEGIA 

THE  southernmost  3G0  geographical  miles  of  the 
west  coast  of  South  America  are  flanked  by  a  row 
of  islands  between  which  and  the  continent  runs  the 
inland  passage  called  Smyth  Channel.  It  is  one  of 
three  such  passages  in  the  world,  the  other  two  flanking 
Alaska  and  Norway  respectively.  The  islands  that 
border  Smyth  Channel  are  a  sunken  range  of  moun- 
tains; the  Channel  is  a  sunken  valley;  hence  the 
propriety  of  referring  to  them  in  this  book.  It  may 
not  be  a  very  good  reason,  but  let  it  seiTe. 

From  Valdivia  we  had  steamed  south  in  dirty 
weather  till  by  dead  reckoning  we  were  off  the  opening 
of  the  Gulf  of  Penas.  Nothing  was  visible  but  the 
restless  sea  and  pouring  rain,  dense  as  a  wall.  The 
Messier  reach  of  Smyth  Channel  is  entered  from  the 
gulf,  and  the  entrance  is  defended  by  many  submerged 
peaks.  It  was  ticklish  work  feeling  our  way  in,  but  it 
was  safely  accomplished,  and  we  anchored  for  the  night 
in  the  calm  waters  of  Hale  Cove,  enclosed  by  wooded, 
Scotch-like  hills.  Between  this  point  and  Magellan 
Straits  the  open  sea  is  only  once  visible  from  the  Chan- 
nel. All  along  it  is  more  like  a  broad  river  than  a 
sound  of  the  sea.  Dense  velvet-textured  forest  drapes 
the  shoulders  and  forms  the  skirts  of  the  hills,  covering 

the  smallest  islands  and  overhanging  the  water.     The 

262 


Fttegia  263 

high-tide  level  cuts  the  foliage  in  a  sharp  horizontal 
line  so  that  the  branches  just  touch  the  surface  at  the 
flood,  while  at  the  ebb  a  boat  can  be  rowed  beneath  the 
thick  arboreal  roof.  The  scenery  is  fine  throughout 
but  rather  monotonous  :  the  calm  water- waj^  wooded 
islands  and  shores,  cliffs  above  seamed  with  waterfalls, 
ice-rounded  bare  summits  reaching  up  into  the  roof  of 
heavy  clouds,  the  whole  enveloped  in  a  damp  and 
sombre  gloom. 

By  unusual  good  luck  the  weather  cleared  and  we 
had  three  fine  days  for  our  voyage  down  the  Channel — 
a  rare  occurrence.  The  most  dangerous  point  is  at  the 
English  Narrows,  which  can  only  be  navigated  at  slack 
water.  The  Channel  twists  about ;  sunken  rocks  lie 
in  wait  for  the  ship  that  swerves  from  the  true  track. 
Whimsical  currents  try  to  draw  her  aside.  Skilful 
navigation  is  essential.  When  the  tide  makes,  the 
waters  boil  and  race.  We  landed  in  the  evening  of 
the  first  day,  and  again  the  next,  after  coming  to  for 
an  hour  to  hoist  ice  on  board  at  a  place  where  small 
bergs  float  away  from  the  snout  of  a  sea-ending  glacier. 

At  Puerto  Bueno  I  spent  six  hours  on  shore  and 
climbed  to  a  considerable  height.  Such  water-valleys 
as  this  are  best  beheld  from  a  height.  Their  extent, 
the  form  of  their  mountain  banks,  their  geographical 
significance  are  only  thus  appreciable.  When  you 
look  dow^n  and  can  see  far,  a  long  channel  winding  away 
is  potent  in  suggestion  of  the  beyond.  The  tantalising 
mystery  as  to  what  may  be  round  the  corner  is  a 
stimulation  to  the  fancy  of  an  explorer.  The  fascina- 
tion of  a  view  may  consist  rather  in  what  is  hidden 


264  Mountain  Memories 

but  suggested  than  in  ,what  is  displayed.  The  glory 
of  an  ocean  prospect  is  in  the  sense  of  immensity,  of 
stretching  away  and  away  beyond  imagination's  grasp. 
The  larger  the  area  overlooked  the  more  is  the 
mind  stirred  to  conceive  the  vastness  of  the  unseen. 
Hence  ocean  views  also  are  more  impressive  when 
beheld  from  a  cliff's  brow  than  from  a  steamer's 
deck. 

I  leapt  ashore  where  a  brook  emptied  itself  by  a 
pretty  waterfall  into  the  bay.  It  was  overarched  with 
trees,  and  all  the  ground  about  was  so  thick  with  the 
matted  growth  of  things  that  advance  would  have  been 
difficult  but  for  the  existence  of  a  faintly-marked 
Indians'  track  leading  inland  along  the  margin  of  a 
stream.  Ice-smoothed  rocks  came  near  the  surface 
everywhere,  and  the  soil  was  often  too  thin  for  trees  to 
grow.  But  where  there  were  no  trees  there  was  a  bog, 
and  the  path,  instead  of  striking  up  over  it,  led  along 
the  flat.  It  dodged  in  and  out  and  came  to  an  end 
at  the  margin  of  a  beautiful  lake  which  the  stream 
drains.  The  forest  trees  thronged  down  upon  the 
edge  of  the  water,  so  that  further  progress  this  way  was 
impossible.  Turning  up  hill,  I  fought  a  passage  through 
the  trees.  Above  was  an  open  bog,  hard  enough  to 
walk  on,  interspersed  in  the  hollows  of  smooth  sweep- 
ing undulations  of  ice-scratched  rock,  leading  up  to  one 
little  lake  above  another,  a  staircase  of  tarns,  each 
marking  the  foot  of  one  of  the  icefalls  of  the  glacier 
that  formerly  covered  the  whole  slope.  Up  and  up 
I  went,  leaving  the  forest  far  below  and  gaining  an  ever 
more  wide  extent  of  view,  where  islands  and  channels. 


Ftcegia  265 

wide   stretches   of  water,   and    range   after   range   of 
mountains  met  the  vision  on  all  sides. 

A  third  day's  voyage   brought  us  into  Magellan 
Strait  near  its  outlet  to  the  Pacific.     Heavy  ocean 
rollers  were  pouring  in  from  the  west.     Only  during 
one  clear  moment  did  we  have  sight  of  Cape  Pillar,  the 
storm- torn    promontory    fronting    the    ocean.     Here 
wind  blows  almost  unceasingly,  driving  before  it  the 
waters  that  are  above  and  beneath.    An  hour  or  two  of 
steaming  up  the  Strait  brought  us  again  on  an  even 
keel.     Desolation  Island  was  now  on  our  right  hand, 
and  the  desolate  mainland  on  our  left.     The  scenery 
was  grander  than  anywhere  in  Smyth  Channel.     The 
rounded  white  hill-tops  and  undulating  snowfields  of 
the  island,  rising  behind  a  paling  of  boldly  pointed 
rocks,  were  enveloped  in  grey  cloud-shadows  and  swept 
by    rain-besoms.     Dreary    valleys    leading    to    sno.w- 
deserts  and  ice-mantled  peaks  opened  and  closed  again. 
Channels  darkened  by  shadows  and  black  reflections 
stretched  away  on  one  side  or  the  other  to  solitudes 
haunted  only  by  the  last  wretched  representatives  of  a 
doomed  race.     Thus  to  the  turning  about  the  southern- 
most point  of  the  continent  the  scenery  remained — 
steel-grey  water  in   front,   purple  hill-bases  and  but- 
tresses beyond,  dead  white  snow  above,  and  a  roof  of 
leaden  cloud  over  all.     Christm.as  Eve  was  giving  place 
to  Christmas  Day  as  we  rounded  Cape  Froward.    Fifty- 
five  miles  farther  on  anchor  was  cast  off  Sandy  Point 
(Punta  Arenas),  where  the  guides  and  I  left  the  ship. 
During  my  stay  in  Fuegia,  .with  the  growing  town 
of  Sandy  Point  for  base,  a  so-called  gunboat  was  placed 


266  Moitntain  Memories 

at  my  disposal  by  the  kindness  of  the  Chilean  Govern- 
ment. Her  name  was  the  Yanez,  but  she  carried  no 
gun.  It  was  a  few  days  before  she  came  in.  Occa- 
sionally on  the  far  horizon,  eighty  to  a  hundred  miles 
away,  the  snowy  range  of  Mount  Sarmiento  was 
partially  disclosed,  but  never  did  I  see  its  highest  peak 
clear  of  cloud.  These  mountains  stand  on  the  western 
peninsula  of  Tierra  del  Fuego  and  form  part  of  the 
series  of  elevations  which  farther  east  is  known  as  the 
Darwin  Range.  I  had  little  hope  of  success  in  a 
climbing  expedition  among  these  peaks,  for  they  appear 
to  be  the  focus  of  flustered  and  contentious  winds  and 
storms  of  hail  and  snow  that  seldom  intermit  for  many 
hours  on  end. 

To  reach  Mount  Sarmiento  we  had  to  steam  back 
to  Cape  Froward  and  thence  proceed  southward  down 
the  wide  Magdalen  Sound  which  opens  out  of  Magellan 
Strait.  Some  thirty  miles  from  the  junction  it  turns 
at  right  angles  to  the  west,  changes  its  name  to  Cock- 
burn  Channel  and  ultimately  opens  into  the  Pacific 
through  a  maze  of  islands.  At  the  elbow-point  of  the 
bend  Mount  Sarmiento  rises  from  the  water.  A  canoe 
came  out  to  us  from  the  darkness  of  a  creek.  It  was 
of  bark  and  skins  stretched  over  a  wattle  framework. 
The  crew  were  a  man,  two  squaws,  and  a  baby — as  ill- 
looking  and  unclean  specimens  of  humanity  as  can  be 
imagined.  They  wore  loose  pieces  of  fur  hitched  on 
to  them  in  casual  fashion,  but  most  of  their  bodies  were 
naked,  and  the  faUing  snow  melted  upon  them.  They 
were  fat  and  greasy  of  aspect,  resembling  seals  or  other 
blubber-covered     cattle.     Their     fatness     served     for 


Ftiegia  267 

clothing,  and  they  felt  no  cold.  Everything  about 
them  and  belonging  to  them  was  damp  except  a  small 
fire  on  a  little  hearth  of  earth  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat.  An  unrecognisable  bird  was  being  cooked  on 
it.  They  exchanged  with  us  for  tobacco  an  otter-skin, 
which,  with  others,  still  keeps  me  warm  in  winter.  A 
hump-backed  whale  was  presently  approached ;  it 
regarded  us  with  indifference  and  did  not  move  away. 
Then  a  school  of  porpoises  gave  us  frolicsome  company. 
A  mile  or  two  away,  near  the  mouth  of  Keats  Sound, 
a  huge  whale  was  leaping  like  a  salmon  clear  out  of  the 
water. 

As  we  approached  the  base  of  our  peak  the  weather 
tended  to  clear.  Just  for  a  moment  a  bright  icy  point 
peeped  forth  far  aloft.  Two  great  glaciers  descending 
the  north  and  west  faces  of  the  mountain  pushed  their 
wide,  rounded  fronts  into  the  sea  in  Darwin's  day,  but 
are  now  shut  off  from  it  by  a  margin  of  forest-clad 
moraine,  a  decorativety  contrasting  foreground  to  the 
white  ice.  We  plied  to  and  again  during  an  hour  or 
more,  sounding  for  an  anchorage  and  reconnoitring 
the  mountain.  Its  west  face  was  a  cliff  of  rock 
plastered  with  ice-feathers  like  those  on  Mount  Hedge- 
hog in  Spitsbergen.  An  ascent  on  this  side  was  not 
to  be  thought  of,  but  what  we  could  see  of  the  north 
face  was  hopeful.  After  anchoring  we  landed  and 
fought  a  way  through  the  dense  forest  to  the  north 
glacier.  Though  this  ground  had  been  the  bed  of  a 
glacier  only  seventy  years  before,  it  was  now  not 
merely  covered  with  full-grown  trees  and  tangled 
shrubs,  but  with  a  thick  layer  of  fallen  and  rotting 


268  Mountain  Memories 

timber  hard  to  scramble  over.  A  small  stream  guided 
us  through.  We  found  the  glacier  in  further  retreat 
and  a  belt  of  recently  abandoned  bed  over  which  pro- 
gress would  be  easy  to  the  foot  of  our  peak.  We 
climbed  on  to  the  ice  ;  it  was  of  singular  purity.  Pools 
upon  it  were  red  with  a  vigorously  growing  weed.  The 
sun  came  out,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  the  weather  was 
perfect;  it  was  the  Fuegian  midsummer.  Yet  Sar- 
miento  still  shrouded  his  head. 

We  rowed  out  on  to  the  calm  Sound  as  the  hour 
of  sunset  approached.     A  tender  pink  light,  far  fainter 
than  the  rich  radiance  of  the  Alpine  glow,  lay  upon  all 
the  surface  of  the  curdled  glacier  and  empurpled  the 
crevasses ;  it  permeated  the  mist  aloft,  which  lay  at  the 
level   it   had   maintained   so   long.     The   cruel   rocks, 
incrusted  with  ice,  and  the  foot  of  the  final  precipice 
,with  its  steep  ridges  and  icy  couloirs  were  all  that  could 
be  seen.     The  graceful  ice-rounded  foundation-rocks 
of  this  and  all  the  other  mountains  around  slope  up  to 
the  cliff  and  the  jagged  aretes  above,  and  make  each 
peak  beautiful  with  contrasted  forms,  massive  yet  suave 
of  outline  beneath,  splintered  and  aspiring  aloft.     In 
one   direction   we   looked   along   the   channel   of   our 
approach ;  in  another,  for  twenty  miles  or  so,  along 
Cockburn  Channel,  with  a  fine  range  of  snowy  peaks 
beside  it,  prolonging  Sarmiento's  western  ridge.     The 
water  was  absolutely  still,  reflecting  the  dark  shore, 
a  few  divers  alone  making  ripples  on  its  surface.     In 
this   stillness    we    floated    with   oars    drawn   in.     The 
silence    of    Nature    took    possession    of    us ;    not    an 
avalanche  fell  upon  the  hills ;  not  a  rock  stirred ;  no 


Fuepia  269 


breeze  whispered.  The  faintest  hum  of  faUing  water 
haunted  the  hstening  ear  hke  the  memory  of  music. 
I  know  not  how  long  we  may  have  remained  thus  inert. 
Looking  once  more  aloft  I  found  the  high  mist  grown 
thinner.  The  pink  light  crept  higher  and  higher  as 
the  cloud  dissolved,  and  yet  steeper  ice- walls  and  more 
precipitous  ribs  of  rock  were  displayed,  till  at  last  some 
white  points  appeared  upon  the  summit  crest.  Even 
they  were  not  the  top,  for  a  cloud  lay  close  above  them, 
hiding  we  knew  not  what.  Suddenly — so  suddenly  that 
all  who  saw  it  cried  out — far  away  above  this  cloud, 
surprisingly,  incredibly  high,  appeared  a  point  of  light 
like  a  glowing  coal  drawn  from  a  furnace.  The  fiery 
glow  crept  down  and  down  as  though  driving  the  mist 
away,  till  there  stood  before  us  as  it  were  a  mighty 
pillar  of  fire  with  a  wreath  of  mist  round  its  base,  and 
downward  a  wonderful  pink  wall  and  cataract  of  ice  to 
the  black  forest  and  reflecting  water.  We  had  seen 
the  final  peak  now — a  tower  of  ice-incnisted  rock, 
utterly  inaccessible  from  the  western  side. 

A  little  while  later  the  fair  colour  had  faded  away. 
Mists  had  re-gathered,  and  night  was  coming  on  apace. 
We  rowed  away  for  the  steamer,  but  had  not  gone  very 
far  before  a  faint  silver  point  appeared  above  the  mist 
where  the  glowing  tower  had  stood.  The  cloud-curtain 
rolled  slowly  down  again,  and  the  summit  crest  was 
revealed,  cold  and  pure.  Then  the  whole  south-west 
ridge  appeared,  and  finally  the  entire  mountain,  like 
a  pale  ghost  illumined  by  some  unearthly  light.  It 
was  a  weird  and  almost  terrifying  vision.  A  moment 
later  clouds  rolled  together,  and  solid  night  came  on 


270  Mountain  Me^nories 

Wind  sprang  up ;  we  hastened  to  the  steamer  for 
warmth,  food,  and  sleep.  The  summit  we  had  seen 
was  doubtless  one  of  the  terminal  teeth  whereof  there 
are  said  to  be  two,  approximately  equal  in  height, 
standing  at  opposite  ends  of  a  ridge.  Both  are  visible 
from  Sandy  Point,  but  I  never  saw  the  other.  Satis- 
fied that  we  had  chosen  the  only  practicable  side  of  the 
mountain  for  attack,  and  hopeful  of  finding  the  cul- 
minating point  more  easy  of  access  than  it  had  appeared 
from  north  and  wTst,  hopeful  too  that  the  weather  was 
settling  for  one  of  the  brief  fine  intervals  that  alone 
can  be  expected  in  this  storm-beaten  region,  I  turned 
in  for  a  few  hours'  rest. 

At  12.15  next  morning  (December  31)  we  again 
left  the  ship — ^Maquignaz,  two  sailors,  and  I.  We 
carried  rifles,  a  few  light  provisions,  and  the  ordinary 
implements  of  mountaineering.  As  we  pushed  off 
from  the  steamer  an  Indian  canoe  glided  away  silently, 
and  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of  the  shore.  We  after- 
ward found  that  it  was  one  of  several  that  were  sneaking 
about  in  the  neighbourhood,  a  dangerous  locality,  as 
Captain  Slocum  had  occasion  to  discover.  Fifteen 
minutes'  rowing  over  calm  water  reflecting  the  grey 
sky  brought  us  where  we  had  re-embarked  the  day 
before  and  entered  the  belt  of  wood.  Its  dusky  re- 
cesses were  hardly  illuminated  by  the  faint  mingling 
of  watery  moonlight  and  dawn.  We  lost  our  way 
hopelessly,  and  had  a  desperate  struggle  to  get  through. 
The  moraine  area  behind  was  exasperating  to  traverse 
in  the  darkness.  We  kept  falling  into  puddles,  trip- 
ping over  stones  and  shrubs,   and  bruising  ourselves 


Fitegia  271 

against  obstacles.  As  the  pink  light,  heralding  sun- 
rise, touched  the  high  mists,  and  for  a  moment  dyed 
a  patch  of  thin  cloud  through  which  the  silver  moon 
was  shining,  we  halted  beside  the  glacier.  The  best 
that  can  be  said  of  the  weather  is  that  it  was  not  imme- 
diately threatening ;  but  the  air  was  unpromisingly 
warm,  and  among  the  plentiful  clouds  were  several  of 
umbrella  shape,  capping  peaks,  an  almost  unfailing  sign 
of  wind  and  bad  weather  to  come.  Advancing  to  the 
farthest  end  of  the  moraine  flat,  we  came  where  glacier 
and  hillside  met.  We  should  have  done  better  to  work 
along  the  edge  of  the  glacier  itself,  but  we  took  to  the 
hillside.  This  involved  a  tough  scramble  up  an  ice- 
polished  wall  whose  every  cranny  was  filled  with  moss 
and  every  larger  crack  occupied  by  a  tree.  The 
scrambling  had  to  be  done  from  tree  to  tree,  for  the 
moss  was  too  soft  to  hold  and  the  rocks  too  smooth 
to  give  footing.  After  traversing  a  further  belt  of 
forest  we  came  out  on  a  slope  of  grassy  alp,  interspersed 
with  patches  of  bog  in  the  hollows.  Mounting  this 
for  some  distance,  we  halted  at  an  altitude  of  1,400  feet 
in  full  daylight. 

Our  steamer  was  just  visible  over  the  forest  belt. 
When  I  first  saw  it  I  thought  it  was  a  small  floating 
log,  so  near  and  minute  did  it  seem.  We  looked  along 
Cockburn  and  Magdalen  Channels,  and  over  the 
wooded  and  snowy  hill-chaos  of  Clarence  Island  be- 
tween them.  The  air  was  so  clear  in  the  gloom  of 
the  morning  that  the  remotest  mountains  visible  seemed 
like  molehills  close  at  hand.  The  landscape  bore  a 
striking  resemblance  to  views  I  recalled  among  the 


272  Mountain  Memories 

Lofoten  Islands.  Up  the  fjords  and  on  the  promon- 
tories of  Clarence  Island,  and  on  the  little  wooded 
islands  that  flank  it,  thin  columns  of  smoke  ascended 
into  the  calm  air  and  drifted  away  to  immense  distances 
before  dispersing.  They  were  the  cooking  fires  of 
scattered  families  of  Canoe  Indians.  Where  we  saw 
a  dozen  or  two,  they  might  have  been  counted  by 
hundreds  in  ancient  days.  Such  smoke  columns  were 
also  used  by  the  natives  as  far  north  as  Northern  Pata- 
gonia for  signalling  to  one  another;  some  of  these  we 
now  beheld  may  have  been  signals.  They  made  a 
striking  feature  in  the  landscape.  Such  signal  fires 
gave  the  name  to  Tierra  del  Fuego. 

During  a  brief  interval  we  had  one  more  glimpse  of 
Sarmiento's  peak  above  the  rocks  of  the  cirque. 
Clouds  were  eddying  about  it ;  it  was  evidently  the 
focus  of  a  gale.  We  saw  enough  to  learn  that  the 
northern  slopes  reach  not  merely  to  the  foot  of  the 
rock  tower,  but  lean  up  against  it  to  at  least  half 
its  height.  This  was  a  great  encouragement;  ob- 
viously we  had  chosen  the  right  way.  We  plodded 
upward. 

The  grass  soon  gave  way  to  slopes  of  firm  snow  and 
occasional  stone-debris.  A  low  cliff  of  slate  arising 
on  our  left  hand  shut  out  the  northward  view.  Striking 
the  crest  of  the  ridge  at  a  gap  above  these  cliffs,  we 
thought  ourselves  far  enough  from  possible  Indian 
intrusion  to  leave  the  rifles  hidden  beneath  an  over- 
hanging rock.  Henceforward  we  scrambled  along  a 
broken  ridge  of  rocks,  in  places  surmounted  by  a 
narrow  and  decaying  wall,  almost  like  one  built  by 


Fitegia  273 

human  hands.      Beyond  that  came  a  snow-ridge  and 
then  a  peak,  whereon  we  halted. 

The  position  was  a  conmianding  one.  I  photo- 
graphed the  panorama,  for  it  seemed  that  the  clear 
weather  could  not  last  much  longer.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  this  was  the  last  point  from  which  we  saw  any- 
thing. Our  altitude  was  about  4,000  feet.  We  were 
cut  off  from  Sarmiento  by  a  wide  snow-saddle,  about 
100  feet  below  us,  communicating  on  one  side  with 
the  great  west  glacier  and  on  the  other  with  the  north 
glacier.  It  would  be  a  good  situation  for  a  camp. 
The  ridge  \ve  stood  on  is  part  of  the  north-west  sub- 
sidiary ran^e.  We  enfiladed  its  peaks,  and  were 
surprised  at  the  boldness  of  their  forms.  Looking 
upward,  we  beheld  the  northern  snow-slope,  broken 
into  n&oi  seracs,  disappearing  in  cloud.  But  the  most 
striking  view  was  to  north  and  east,  where  we  over- 
looked the  great  reservoir  which  pours  out  glacier- 
tongues  in  three  directions — east,  north,  and  west. 
Beyond  this  silent,  pallid  expanse  came  the  dark  ranges, 
crowned  with  snow,  that  bordered  the  deep  trench  of 
Gabriel  Channel.  North,  far  awa}'',  was  Cape  Fro  ward, 
at  the  end  of  Magdalen  Sound.  Then  came  the  intricate 
chaos  of  peaks  and  ranges  filling  Clarence  Island. 
Still  farther  around  we  looked  down  Cockburn  Channel 
and  along  the  snowy  ranges  south  of  it.  It  was  a 
wonderful  view,  not  merely  for  its  extent,  but  for  the 
indescribable  solemnity  of  its  colouring.  There  was 
no  sheen  upon  the  water,  no  glitter  on  the  snow.  It 
was  white  with  the  pallor  of  death,  and  framed  within 
forest  belts  of  sable  blackness. 


274  Mountain  Memories 

A  storm,  gathering  in  the  north,  soon  blotted  out 
the  southern  extremity  of  the  continent.  There  was 
evidently  no  time  for  delay ;  we  had  need  to  descend 
on  to  the  saddle.  Beyond  it  the  way  led  up  a  great 
broken  snow-field  of  ever-increasing  slox^e,  where  the 
seracs  were  large  and  crevasses  yawned  in  all  directions. 
It  was  a  difficult  glacier,  gradually  narrowing  with  the 
ascent  as  the  side  ridges  came  together.  The  last  slope 
was  less  broken.  At  the  very  top  of  it  were  to  come 
the  rocks  of  the  final  pyramid ;  but  we  never  touched 
them,  or  even  saw  them,  for  the  storm  battalions  from 
the  north  swept  down  upon  us  with  fury,  swallowing 
up  the  view  before  it  ever  became  a  panorama  or  our 
eyes  could  behold  what  I  so  longed  to  see — the  great 
range,  stretching  away  behind  Mount  Sarmiento  to 
Mount  Darwin,  which  looks  down  on  Beagle  Channel. 
The  darkness  in  the  north,  before  it  descended  upon 
us,  was  truly  appalling.  It  seemed  not  merely  to  cover, 
but  to  devour  the  wintry  world.  The  heavens  appeared 
to  be  falling  in  solid  masses,  so  dense  were  the  skirts 
of  snow  and  hail  that  the  advancing  cloud-phalanx 
trailed  beneath  it.  Black  islands,  leaden  waters,  pallid 
snow^s,  and  splintered  peaks  disappeared  in  a  night  of 
tempest,  which  enveloped  us  also  almost  before  we  had 
realised  that  it  was  at  hand.  A  sudden  wind  shrieked 
and  whirled  around  us ;  hail  was  flung  into  our  faces, 
and  all  the  elements  raged  together.  The  ice-plastered 
rocks  were  accounted  for;  we  came  to  resemble  them 
ourselves  in  a  few  moments.  All  landmarks  vanished ; 
the  snow  beneath  was  no  longer  distinguishable  from 
the  snow,-filled  air.     To  advance  was  impossible. 


Fuegia  275 

The  one  thing  to  be  done,  and  done  at  once,  was 
to  secure  our  retreat.  We  had  no  time  to  take  a 
barometer  reading,  but  our  altitude  may  have  been 
around  5,000  feet.  With  what  speed  we  hurried 
down  may  be  imagined.  Not  till  we  gained  the  lower 
glacier  did  snow  give  place  to  rain,  which  soaked  us 
to  the  skin  and  overflowed  out  of  our  boots.  We 
floundered  in  swamps  and  tumbled  through  brush- 
wood ;  then  striking  out  a  new  route,  climbed  on  to 
the  glacier  and  followed  it  right  down  to  its  foot,  where 
the  rapidity  of  its  present  retreat  became  apparent. 
Instead  of  ending  in  a  bulging  front,  it  fades  away 
beneath  a  covering  of  moraine,  in  a  series  of  icy  mounds, 
some  of  them  quite  high  and  almost  isolated  from  the 
snout,  last  fragments  of  its  greater  extension.  Thus, 
to  our  surprise,  we  found  a  broad  opening,  perhaps  a 
hundred  yards  wide,  once  the  bed  of  the  glacier  tor- 
rent, which  led  right  through  the  forest  belt  to  the 
shore.  Avoiding  all  trouble  with  the  wood,  we  came 
out  upon  the  beach  and  fired  our  guns  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  steamer. 

Our  time  was  up.  The  Yanez  was  due  elsewhere. 
We  returned  to  Sandy  Point.  I  went  to  bed  with  an 
armful  of  newspapers.  An  explosion  in  the  street  and 
a  great  hullabaloo  startled  me.  Expecting  some 
tragedy,  I  rushed  to  the  window,  but  it  was  only  the 
year  1898  that  was  dead  and  my  mountaineering 
career  ended. 

Though  I  climbed  no  more  in  the  meantime,  it  was 
not  till  August  19,  1901,  that  I  took  formal  leave  of 
snow-mountains  by  going  again  to  the  summit  of  the 


276  Motmiain  Memories 

Zermatt  Breithorn,  which  (as  the  reader  may  remind 
himself  by  looking  back  to  Chapter  III)  I  had  climbed 
on  September  9,  1872.  Then  I  was  a  schoolboy.  Now 
I  was  accompanied  by  my  daughter.  It  was  to  be 
her  first  mountain-chmb,  as  it  had  been  mine.  She 
was,  within  the  compass  of  a  Lent,  the  same  age  that 
I  had  been.  We  slept  at  the  Theodiile  Hut,  and  the 
weather  was  propitious,  but  I  found  the  final  slope  a 
much  more  toilsome  affair  than  twenty-nine  years 
before.  The  view  embraced  all  my  hoary-headed 
friends.  Scarcely  a  peak  of  any  importance  was  in 
sight  on  whose  summit  I  had  not  stood.  I  saluted 
them  for  the  last  time,  but  not  regretfully.  They 
had  given  me  health,  joy,  beauty,  friends,  and  rich 
memories.  Those  I  was  not  going  to  leave  behind. 
They  are  still  mine  and  infinitely  precious. 


Index 


Abbottabad,  131 

Abruzzi,  Duke  of  the,  157,  161 

Achacache,  239,  241 

Aconcagua,  249,  250,  254 

Aden,  129 

Advent  Bay,  193 

Aghard  Bay,  200 

Agra,  175 

Alagna,  101,  103 

Aletsch  glacier,  184 

Algiers,  120 

Alpine  guides,  winter  lives  of,  86 

Alps,  the,  first  view  of,  21 

from  End  to  End,  176  et  seq. 
Amar  Sing,  176 
Amazon,  head-waters  of,  243 
America  (South),  mountain  ascents  in, 
229  el  seq. ;  volcanic  region  of,  248 
Amritsar,  175 
Amsterdam  Island,  202 
Ancohuma,  239 
Andermatten,  Franz,  77 
Andes,  Bolivian,  228  et  seq. 
Andree,  author's  meeting  with,  202, 208 
Andr^e's  last  balloon  trip,  210 
Ankogel,  177,  191 
Antofagasta,  249 

Aosta,  124  ;   Roman  remains  at,  115 
Arctic  rock  islands,  203 
Argentera,  178 
Argenti^re,  Aiguille  d',  113 
Arolla,  valley  of,  64 
Art,  Italian,  97 
Ascotan,  248 

Asia,  memories  of,  136  et  seq. 
Askoley,  150,  152 
Astor,  135 

Astronomy,  the  joys  of,  23 
Avalanches,  44,  56,  86,  90,  139 
Axenstein,  24 
Aymonod,  176 


Bagrot  valley  (Gilgit),  138 

Balfrin,  84 

Balfrinjoch,  84 

Baltistan,  147;     valley  of,  166 

Baltoro  glacier,  152 

Baveno,  91 

Belalp,  the,  90 

Bell  Sound,  208 


Berisal,  107,  118 

Berlin,  41 

Berne,  21 

Bernese  Oberland,  21,  48 

Bernina,  Piz,  43,  47,  53 

Biafo  glacier,  147 

Biener,  Franz,  31 

Bignasco,  107 

Binn,  105 

Bionnassay,  Aiguille  de,  182 

Blubbertown  (see  Smeerenburg) 

Blixmhsalp,  21 

Bolivian  Andes,  the,  228  et  seq. 

Bombay,  175 

Bonaveau  Alp,  the,  33 

Botzer,  39 

Bower,  Prof.  F.  O.,  38 

Braldu  valley,  147 

Breithorn,  30,  85,  276 

Brennerbad,  189 

Brenner  Pass,  37,  189 

Breuil,  117 

Bride,  The  (Himalayas),  157 

Brieg,  27,  90 

Broad  Peak,  154,  157 

Broome,  112 

Bruce,  Lieut,  (now  Brigadier-General) 

the  Hon.  G.  G.,  128,  191 
Bruneck,  41 

Buddhism  in  Ladakh  and  Tibet,109-170 
Buet,  183 
Buin,  Piz,  187 
Burzil  Pass,  134 
By  Alp,  115 


Cacaaca,  239 

Caillet,  Pierre,  33 

Caimbaya,  235,  238 

Callao,  "228 

Carfrae,  James,  32 

Can,  ElHs,  124 

Carrel,  Louis,  176 

Casse,  Grande,  179 

Cenis,  Mount,  179 

Cervin  (Matterhorn),  28,  31,  61 

the  tragedy  of,  43,  61,  67,  69 
Chamonix,  111,  181  ;   Aiguilles  of,  111 
Champex  Pass,  113 
Chasseforet,  Ddmc  de,  179 
Chatillon,  95 


277 


278 


Index 


Cherbadung,  104 

Chermontane,  115 

Chexbres,  34 

Chilas,  gorge  of,  136 

Chile,  experiences  in,  248  ei  seq. 

Chililaya,  232 

Chimborazo,  228 

China,  the  highway  of,  168, 169 

Chortens,  170,  171 

Cima  di  Jazzi,  28 

Clarence  Island,  272 

"  Climbers'  Guide  "  to  Lepontine  Alps, 

109 
Cockburn  Channel,  266,  2G8 
Cogne,  124 

Colma,  Colle  della,  103 
Combin,  114 
Concepcion,  261 
Constantinople,  120 
Conway,  Sir  Martin,  an  alpine  accident, 
77 

an  uncomfortable  voyage  on  a  native 
raft,  162 

ascends  the  Frohnalpstock,  25 

at  Labor,  130 

Baltoro,  the,  152  et  seq. 

climbs  debris-slopes   of  Aconcagua, 
255 

discourteous  Bolivian  villagers,  240 

discovers  new  routes,  74 

East  (the),  and  its  call,  120  et  seq. 

elected  a  member  of  Alpine  Club,  56 

Engadine  experiences  of,  42  el  seq. 

first  ascent  of  Snowdon,  16 

first  view  of  the  Alps,  21 

Fuegian  mountains,  266 

his  father,  22 

Hispar  Pass,  144  et  seq. 

impressions  of  India,  130 

inland  ice  of  Spitsbergen,  210  e/se^. 

Kashmir  and  its  charms,  129  et  seq. 

Ladakh  and  its  capital,  164  et  seq. 

lessons  in  surveying,  etc.,  123 

mountaineering  by  rail,  229 

Pennine  and  Lepontine  wanderings, 
101  et  seq. 

quarantined  in  Italy,  101 

reminiscences  of  early  days,  9  et  seq. 

researches   in   mountain    geography 
and  history,  73  et  seq. 

sketch  -  surveying     in     Spitsbergen, 
194  et  seq. 

South  American  volcanoes,  246 

spring-time  among  the  mountains, 
138  et  seq. 

the  Alps  from  End  to  End,  176  et  seq. 

Tirol  reminiscences,  36  et  seq. 


Conway,  Sir  Martin  (continued). 

visits  Bolivian  Andes,  228  et  seq. 

"  Zermatt  Pocket-book  "  published, 
83 

Zermatt  visits,  60  et  seq. 
Coohdge,  Rev.  W.  A.  B.,  62,  82,  104, 

107,  110,  117 
Cordier,  Monsieur,  47 
Cordillera,  229,  232,  236,  239  245 
Coronel,  261 
Cortina,  99 
Corvatsch,  Piz,  43 
Cottian  Alps,  the,  178 
Cotton,  Dr.,  252 
Couloirs,  charm  of,  114 
Courmayeur,  95,  181 
Cr^ton,  Col  de,  117 
Cristallo,  37,  99 
Cross  Bay,  202,  214 
Crowns  Glacier,  215,  218,  220 
Cyprus,  120 


Dal  Lake,  131,  132,  175 

Danes  Island,  202 

Darwin  mountain,  Fuegia,  266 

Dauphine  Alps,  179 

Delhi,  175 

Dent  Blanche,  65,  102 

Dent  d'H^rens,  116 

Dent  du  Midi,  32 

De  Saussure,  H.  B.,  102 

Desolation  Island,  265 

Devil-dancing,  173 

Devil's  Bridge,  the,  26 

Diablerets,  183 

Diadem  Mountain,  217 

Dickin,  Lieut. -Colonel  Lloyd,  128 

Dickson  Bay,  Ice  Sound,  208 

Discovery,  Rock  of,  102 

Dolomite  mountains,  Spitsbergen,  215, 

218 
Dolomites,  the,  37,  99 
Dom,  the,  78 
Dome  glacier,  181 
Douglas,  Lord  Francis,  85 
Dras  valley,  167 
Drei   Zinnen,  99 
Dresden,  41 


Earth-pyramids,  Bolivian,  234 
East,  the,  religion  in,  123 
Eckenstein,  Oscar,  128 
ficrins,  179 
Edge  Island,  200 
Egypt,  120 


Index 


279 


Elephanta  Temple,  the,  175 
El-Kab,  166 

Elm,  mountain-fall  at,  186 
Elva,  Pelvo  d',  178 
Emilius,  Mont,  124 
Engadine,  the,  42  el  seq. 
Enldeckungsfels,  102 
Everest,  Mount,  154 
Exile  Mountain,  217 


Fairbanks,  the  Rev.  Arthur,  19 

Fee  Pass,  74 

Filippo  de'  Filippl,  Col.,  117 

Fillar  Alp,  93  ;    Pass,  93 

Finsteraarhorn,  21,  24,  26,  110 

Fitzgerald,  Edward,  124,  176,  189,  259 

Fletschhorner,  110,  183 

Floods,  142 

Florence,  92 

Folkestone,  holidays  at,  12 

Fotu  Pass,  171 

Fraskiya,  241 

Freshfield,  D.  W.,  112,  123 

Frohnalpstock,  25 

Froward,  Cape,  265,  266 

Fuegia,  262  et  seq. 

Fuorcla  Pass,  51 

Furka  Pass,  26 


Gabelhorn,  85 
Galenstock,  sunrise  on,  185 
Garwood,  Professor,  94  (note),  148, 194, 

210,  222,  224 
Gastein,  Wildbad,  191 
Gaurisankar  (Everest),  154 
Geant,  Aiguille  du,  111-112 
Gemmi  Pass,  183 
Geneva,  Lake  of,  112,  114,  182 
Gepatsch  Glacier,  187 
Gilgit,  138  ;    valley,  166 
Glaciers,  141 
Glarus,  186 

Godwin-Austen,  Col.,  152 
Goethe,  a  dictum  of,  118 
Golden  Throne  (mountain),  156,  158 
Gonpas  (Monasteries),  170,  171 
Goose  Haven,  Horn  Sound,  222 
Corner  Glacier,  31,  61 
Corner  Grat,  28,  85 
Goschenen,  186 
Gouter,  Dome  du,  181,  182 
Graian  Alps,  95,  114,  179 
Grand  Paradis,  124 
Grande  Casse,  179 
Grande  Motte,  179 


Grande  Sassi^re,  179 

Grandes  Murailles,  Les,  116 

Grass,  Hans,  49 

Greece,  120 

Gregory,  Professor  J.  W.,  194 

Gressoney,  102 

Grimsel  Pass,  184 

Grivola,  124 

Gross  Glockner,  190 

Gross,  Johann,  43,  46,  47,  49 

Gross  Litzner,  187 

Gross  Venediger,  189,  190 

Griinhornlucke  Pass,  184 

Guayaquil,  128 

Gusherbrum,  154,  157 

Gwalior,  175 


Hale  Cove,  262 

Hamburg,  41 

Hammerfest,  208 

Hatu  Pir,  136 

Hayti,  228 

Hedgehog,  Mount,  222,  226 

Herbetet,  124 

Hidden  Peak,  154 

High-level  routes.  111  et  seq.,  183 

Highway  Pass,  Spitsbergen,  215 

Himalaya  Mountains,   134  ;    flora  of, 

138  ;   notable  peaks,  154 
Himis  and  its  temples,  172 
Hinloopen  Strait,  203 
Hispar  glacier,  144 
Hispar  Pass,  144,  146 
Hochfeiler,  189 

Hochste  Spitze  of  Monte  Rosa,  103 
Holi  festival  at  Labor,  130 
Horcones  Valley,  250 
Horn  Sunds  Tind,  219,  222,  226 
Hornli,  85 
Hunza,  106 
Hunza  valley,  139,  166 


Ice-avalanches,  44,  56 

Icebergs,  beauty  of,  205,  210,  221 

Ice-pack,  the  polar,  203 

Ice-plumes  and  how  fashioned,  223 

Ice  Sound,  193,  210 

Illampu,  232,  233,  239 

Illiez,  Val  d',  33 

Illimani,  232,  233,  238 

Imseng,  Ferdinand,  77 

Inca,  Baths  of,  250,  261 

India,  a  native  raft,  162 

Indian  Ocean,  129 

Indians'  dislike  of  Europeans,  241,  242 


28o 


Index 


Indio,  Pico  del,  235    236 

Indus,  the,  134 

Indus  vallev,  physical  features  of,  165 

Isfire,  Val  d',  179 

Isola  Bella,  92 

Isola  San  Giulio,  103 

Italy,  author  in,  92 

Ivory  Gate  Pass,  Spitsbergen,  200 

Jagerhorn,  93 
Jamaica,  128 
Jhelam  River,  131 
Jungfrau,  184 
Jura,  34 

K.  2  (Himalayas),  154,  155 

Kals,  190 

Kaltenwasser  Pass,  104 

Karakoram  Pass,  168 

Kargil,  168 

Kashmir,  131  el  seq. 

Keats  Sound,  267,  268 

Kent,  Drayton's  lines  on,  99 

Khyber  Pass,  175 

Kien  glacier,  79 

Kinchinjanga,  154 

King  Charles  Foreland,  201 

Kings  Bay,  202,  208,  214 

Kings  Highway,  Spitsbergen,  215 

Kirbir,  176,  182 

Klaas  Billen  Bay,  210 

Ladakh,  164  et  seq. 

Labor,  130 

Lakes,  their  beauty  from  above,  110 

Lamaism  of  Tibet,  171-172 

Lamayuru  monastery,  171 

Langtauferer  valley,  187 

La  Paz,  232  ;    river  valley,  233 

Laurata,  wines  of,  234 

Laveno,  110 

Leaf,  Walter,  19,  95 

Lebendun  Lake,  106 

Leh  (capital  of  Ladakh),  164,  172 

Lend,  177 

Leone,  Monte,  104,  109 

Lepontine  Alps,  104,  107,  110 

Lima,  228 

Limone,  177 

Loccie,  Colle  delle,  77 

Lota,  261 

Lotschenliicke  Pass,  184 

Low  Sound,  208 

Lucerne,  impressions  of,  24 

Luino,  110 


Luisettes,  Aiguille  de,  115 

Col  de,  115 
Liiner  See,  187 
Lys  Glacier,  102 
Lysjoch,  102 
Lyskamm,  102 


Macugnaga,  92 
Magdalen  Sound,  266 
Magdalena  Bay,  202,  208,  214 
Magellan,  Straits  of,  261,  262,  263 
Maggia,  Bocchetta  di  Val,  106 
Maggiore,  Lake,  91 
Magnetic  sand,  249 
Malvern,  holidays  at,  14 
Mani  mounds,  169,  171 
Maquignaz,  A.,  228,  258,  260,  270 
Maritime  Alps,  110,  178 
Martand,  ruins  of,  132 
Martinsloch,  186 
Mashcrbrum,  154,  157 
Mathews,  Charles  Edward,  17,  112, 113 
Matterhorn  (see  Cervin) 
Mattmark-Weissthor,  92 
McCormick,  A.  D.,  128 
Meije,  179 

Meraviglie,  Laglii  delle,  rock  decora- 
tions of,  166 
Mettelhorn,  85 
Miage  glacier,  181 
Middlemore,  J.,  47 
Mirages,  246,  248 
Mischabel,  110 
Mischabelhorner,  102 
Modane,  179 
Mollendo,  231 
Montanvers,  111,  113 
Mont  Blanc,  34,  71,  75,  95,  112,  180 
Monthey,  32 
Moro,  Monte,  92 

Morteratsch  glacier,  44,  50,  53  ;  Piz,43 
Mossel  Bay,  206 
Motte,  Grande,  179 
Mountain  geography  and  history,  73 
Mountain  sickness,  229,  251 
Mountains,  springtime  among  the,  138 
Mummery,  A.  F.^  123,  124j  127 
Mutten  Lake,  186 
Mythen,  25 


Nadelgrat,  84 

Nagar,  141,  166 

Namika  Pass,  170 

Nanga  Parbat,  127 

Nansen's  voyage  in  the  Fram,  208 


Index 


281 


Nhes,  65 

Niesen,  21 

Nordend  of  Monte  Rosa,  92,  184 

Nordenskjold,  203,  206 

North-East-Land,  204 

Nudo,  Monte,  110 

Nushik  Pass,  146 


Oberaarjoch,  184 

Obergabelhorn,  85 

Oberland,  the,  mountains  of,  25,  183 

Ober  Rothhorn,  85 

Oetzthal  glaciers,  187 

Ofenhorn,  105,  106 

Old  Weissthor,  92 

Olen,  Colle  d',  101 

Olga  Strait,  213 

Oroya  Pass,  229 

Orta,  101,  103 

Ortler,  48 

Oruro,  246 

Otemma  glacier,  115 


Pallanza,  92 

Palu,  Piz,  51 

Panama,  Isthmus  of,  228 

Parker,     Robert     (Lord     Parker     of 

Waddington),  84 
Parry,  Sir  William,  206 
Passingham,  29 
Pellissier,  Louis,  228,  257,  260 
Peiias,  Gulf  of,  262 
Penhall,  W.,  76,  77,  81 
Penmaenmawr,  16 
Pennine  Guides,  109 
Pennines,  the,  183 
Peshawar,  175 
Petriolo  Alp,  the,  77 
Pillar,  Cape,  265 
Pioneer  Peak,  elevation  of,  159 
Plaine  Morte  glacier,  183 
Pollock,  Sir  Fred.,  19 
Pontresina,  42,  51,  100 
Poopo,  Lake,  246 
Praray6,  116 
Prayer-wheels,  169,  171 
Pretender  Mountain,  217,  218 
Proctor,  R.  A.,  23 
Prothero,  George,  62 
Puerto  Bueno,  263 
Puna    plateau    of    Bolivia,    the,    233, 

235,  237,  239 
Punta  Arenas,  265 
Pusterthal,  41 


Ragatz,  187 

Rakipushi,  139 

Randa,  27 

Reuss  valley,  26 

Rhone  glacier,  26  ;   valley,  183 

Ridnaun  valley,  189 

Ried,  184 

Rimpfischorn,  64 

Rio  Grande,  River,  248 

Ritter  Pass,  109 

Rock  of  Discovery,  the,  102 

Rocks,  coloured,  168,  254 

Rosa,    Monte,    61,  89,    92,    102,    103, 

110,  184 
Roseg,  Piz,  48,  52 
Rothhorn,  65,  78,  95 
Roudebush,  J.  H.,  128 
Ruitor,  180 
Ruskin  on  the  Cervin,  61 


Saas  Grat,  110,  183  ;  valley,  74 

St.  Gervais,  71 

St.  Gothard  tunnel,  26 

St.  Niklaus,  117 

St.  Pierre,  Tour  de,  124 

St.  Th^odule,  29,  95,  117 

Sanchi  Tope  (Buddhist  monument),  175 

Sandy  Point  (Punta  Arenas),  265 

San  Pedro,  248 

Santiago,  261 

Sarmiento,  Mount,  266 

Sassen  Bay,  195 

Sassendal,  197 

Sassidre,  Grande,  179 

Sasso  di  Ferro,  110 

Scafell,  177 

Scesaplana,  187 

Schwarzsee,  28 

Schwyz,  25 

Scriven,  George,  60,  76 

Seigne,  Col  de  la,  112 

Seven  Icebergs,  the,  203 

Seven  Islands,  the,  204 

Shigar  valley,  161 

Silvretta  range,  the,  187 

Simla,  175 

Simplon,  90,  183 

Sind  valley,  174 

Skardo,   162,166 

Smeerenburg  (Blubbertown),  202 

Smyth  Channel,  262 

Snowdon,  16,  17 

Snowfields,  65,  78 

Sonadon,  Col  du,  115 

SonnbUck,  191 

Sorata,  239 


282 


Index 


Spitsbergen,  192,  210  el  seq. 

Springtime  among  the  mountains,  138 

Srinagar,  132,  164 

Stalden,  84 

Stellihorn,  118 

Sterzing,  36,  189 

Stockhorn  (Lake  of  Tliun),  21 

Stogdon,  J.,  19 

Stone  Age,  the,  166 

Strahlhorn,  89 

Stresa,  92 

Switzerland,  holidays  in,  19 

Syria,  120 

Tacul,  Aiguille  du,  111 
Taj  Mahal,  the,  175 
Tarentaise,  114 
Tenda,  CoUe  di,  177 
Thun,  21 

Tibet,  Lamaism  in,  170 
Tiefen  glacier,  26 
Tierra  del  Fuego  (see  Fuegia) 
Tirol,  36  el  seq.  ;   mountains  of,  187 
Titicaca,  Lake,  231 
Todi,  186 
Tofana,  37 

Topham,  Harold,  123 
Torell,  Cape,  205 
Tosa  Falls,  106 
Tour  de  St.  Pierre,  124 
Tournanche,  64,  117 
Tour  Salliercs,  33,  34 
Transandine  railway,  the,  250 
Tr^latete,  182 
Treurenburg  Bav,  206 
Trevor-Bat tye.  A.,  208 
Trift  valley,  85 
Triftjoch,  78 

Tunbridgc  Wells,  the  Toad  Rock  at,  15 
Tyndall,  Professor,  narrow  escape  of, 
44,  46 

Uebelthal  glacier,  188  ;   Icefall,  39 

Untergabelhorn,  the,  85 

Uri,  186 

Uspallata  Cumbre  Pass,  250 

Uyuni,  railway  station  of,  247 

Valdieri  valley,  178 

Valdivia,  261 

Valgrande  di  Valle,  Pizzo,  109 

Valparaiso,  249,  261 

Valpellinc,  64,  115  ;    glacier,  117 

Val  Tournanche,  117,  124 

Varallo,  103 

Veglia  Alp,  108,  115 


V6lan,  Mont,  114 

Venediger,  Gross,  189,  190 

Venice  in  fog,  175 

Vent,  188 

Verlegen  Hook,  203 

Vert,  Col,  115 

Vincent,  Niklaus,  102 

Vincent  PjTamide,  102 

Viso,  Monte,  110,  178 

Visp,  27 

Vofr^de  glacier,  124 

Volcanic  rock,  debris-slope  of,  252,  254 

Volcanoes,  a  region  of,  248 

Voza,  Col  de,  112 

Wainwright,  J.  H.,  49 
"Wales,  holidays  in,  16 
Walker,  Horace,  177 
Wangat,  ruined  temples  of,  175 
Warren,  H.,  49 
Wasenhorn,  107 
Waterfalls,  alpine,  106 
Weisshorn,  71,  74 
Weisskugel,  187 
Weissthors,  the,  92,  93 
Weisszintjoch,  189 
Wellenkuppe,  the,  78,  85 
Whymper  in  Guayaquil,  228 
Wiche  Islands,  206 
Wijde  Bay,  206,  207 
Wildbad  Gastein,  191 
Wilder  Freiger,  38,  189 
Wildhorn,  183 
Williams,  124 
Windbach  Alp,  188 
Windisch  Matrei,  190 
Windjochi  the,  74 
Winter  glacier,  186 
Wood  Bay,  Spitsbergen,  215 
Worcestershire  Beacon,  the,  14 
Wybe  Jans  Water,  213 

YouNGHUSBAND,  Sir  Frank;  152 

Zermatt,  60  el  seq.,  113  ;  valley  of,  74 

"Zermatt  Pocket-book,  the,"  82,  83 

Zillerthal  Alps,  the,  189 

Zimmerwald,  21,  23 

Zinal  Rothhorn,  the,  65 

Zinal,  valley  of,  64 

Zoji  Pass,  173 

Zuckerhutl,  38,  188 

Zumstein  Spitze,  61,  62 

Zurbriggen,  Louis,  93 

Zurbriggen,  Mattias,  127,  128,  176,  259 


Printed  by  Cassell  &  Company.  Limited,  La  Belle  Sauvage,  London,  E.C.4 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


NOV  2  m 


OBION     OCtO 

I5B?0  ID-UI* 
0CT2  01389 


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1 5  1976 

UtCD  iD-um 
«i    N0V25J 

Form  L-9-15)n-7,'35 


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